


The Lies of Good and Evil

by Jessiy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Tom's POV, canon until book 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-01-25 21:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12541616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessiy/pseuds/Jessiy
Summary: The first mistake Dumbledore made was assuming Voldemort made those Horcruxes when in fact he was keeping them safe for his mentor. What is a guy to do when a renowned ‘Light’ wizard starts to try to kill him? Why, protect himself of course! And why does a certain curly haired girl make his pulse race? Hermione/Tom Riddle *Tom POV*





	1. Chapter 1

# Chapter One

Tom left Riddle house bathed in blood but that wasn’t even the most notable thing about him that night. Had anyone laid eyes on the teenaged budding dark lord, they would have shivered and hightailed it to the nearest pub to drown in whiskey, avoiding the dark and ominous object in his hands.

He was riding high, dark and terrible memories crashing together, rolling around his brain caressing the pleasure centers that were currently in control. The torture and death of his closest blood relatives should have saddened him, should have made him recoil with anger but he could find little but enjoyment from their last moments.

It all started that morning when he had slipped away from Hogsmeade, chasing down a lead about his Uncle Morfin and found himself face to face with the revolutionary leader, Gellert Grindelwald.

“I’ve head things about you. Promising things,” Grindelwald said, leaning nonchalantly against a tree, in the middle of nowhere. It was just the two of them for miles.

“I’ve heard things about you too. Stupid things.”

“Really?” Grindelwald grinned, amusement colored his voice. “If you were me, what would you do differently?”

“Well first of all, I would focus on winning.”

“I am all ears, impress me with your brilliant plans.”

“Your movement isn’t strong enough. If you fall, the whole war collapses but if you could ensure success, would you do it?”

“And what do you think would ensure success?”

“What if there was a way to tether your soul to the living so that you can never die.”

Grindelwald raised his brow, no longer smiling. The intensity of his stare would have been unnerving had Tom been any less of a bad ass.

“Horcruxes.” The word slid off Tom’s tongue like a seductive promise of eternal power as if it weren’t the horrible maiming of a soul. Grindelwald pushed off from the tree and moved closer, a hard, disgusted expression on his face.

“I want superiority over muggles for all wizards, despite their humble beginnings and bring our people out from the shadows to walk freely in the world. I have no desire to mess with the very core of myself, the very center of my being. The moral high ground is mine. Horcruxes dirty the movement.”

“That is a very pretty sentiment but last I checked, the other wizards around the world feared you, wanted to capture you. I don’t think they want what you are trying to sell. Horcruxes would merely ensure you have an unlimited amount of time to convince the world. If you were truly serious about magic wouldn’t you do anything, commit any act, even destroying your own soul just for the possibility of it? When Dumbledore finally gets off his arse to defeat you, I will rise. I won’t make the same shortsighted decisions as you. I will take the Pureblooded and give them a rally point behind their desire to rid the wizarding world of those of lesser blood and I will have the most powerful and well-trained army at my fingertips. _I_ will never have to beg to acquire magical talent. They will flock to me because I am more powerful than they, because I will be invincible.”

“Cocky little shit, aren’t you?” Grindelwald sneered.

“No, just confident in my own skills. You can do whatever you want. Make Horcruxes or not. I don’t really care.”

“Have you?”

“Made Horcruxes?” Tom asked.

“Yes,”

“Not yet but I am sure an opportunity will present itself soon.”

“How old are you? Twelve?”

“Ha ha! If I were twelve, you wouldn’t be here talking to me, trying to recruit me.”

“I am not trying to recruit you.”

“No?” Tom smirked and slipped easily into the Grindelwald’s mind, skimming his surface thoughts and reveling in the annoyance at his correct deduction of why they were having this conversation in the forest around little Hangleton. Grindelwald grimaced and looked away.

“I’m seventeen.”

“And what family do you belong to, Tom Riddle, future Horcrux master?”

Tom snorted and tilted his head as if he were puzzling out the man in front of him. “I belong to no family.”

“If that were true, the Purebloods would have nothing to do with you. You would most certainly have not amassed followers of the caliber you have drawn.”

“That’s true,” Tom murmured.

“Well?”

“They follow me because I am Slytherin’s heir. They follow me because I am the heir of Gaunt. They follow me because I am powerful,”

“No. They follow you because you are hungry. Ambition is the only currency that Slytherins understand. Well, that and gold.”

“On that, we agree.”

“Join me,” Grindelwald said, no hint of annoyance or amusement. Only cold opportunity.”

“Show me you are fully committed to your cause,”

“How?” Grindelwald scoffed. “By making a Horcrux?”

“You want my loyalty, but shouldn’t you be the one to show your dedication? Dumbledore will eventually be forced to make his move against you and I am convinced you will fall. I have no intention of joining a doomed cause.”

“If I make a Horcrux, you must bind yourself to me as my apprentice and bring all of your loyal pureblooded servants.”

“I swear it,” Tom smirked, knowing that Grindelwald was much too afraid to go through with it. No matter, his own plans wouldn’t change.

“Who did you have in mind?”

Tom lifted a single brow and a slow smile spread over his face.

“I have the perfect Muggles.”

“Lead on,” Grindelwald dropped into a bow, exaggeration and mockery exuded from every line of his body. Tom began to walk toward the town, never looking back to make sure Grindelwald was following.

They stopped only once before entering Riddle house at the front gate as Tom stared at what should have been his by right of birth. After a pregnant pause, Riddle pushed through the small white fence and sauntered up the walk to the door of the family that didn’t want him, that left him in an orphanage because they couldn’t dredge up enough pity for their own kin on account of his parentage. Funny, because if not for his mother, he wouldn’t draw half of the scions of the pure houses to serve under him.

He didn’t bother to knock, pushing the door open and walking into the sitting room as if he owned the place and sat on one of the finely upholstered sofas, crossing his legs and resting his arm over the back. He lazily gestured for Grindelwald to sit, and listened as his grandmother flew into a panic, trying to find her husband or son to chase away the perfectly legitimate rape baby that took over their precious home.

Grindelwald’s sparkling eyes held fervor and malice, watching as the Muggles denied their progeny one last time.

“Lovely family you got here,” Grindelwald murmured conversationally.

“Quite,” Tom said in a clipped tone. Tension in every syllable.

Dropping once more into silence, the duo waited, finally moving only when the entire Riddle family moved in to chase them out.

“I hope you know how to make one,” Grindelwald said as he rose, wand in hand. “But even if you don’t, killing these Muggles will be a wonderful story to tell my men. Imagine a Muggle rejecting the wizard born heir. How foolish,”

“There is a ritual once they are dead. All you need is an object to encase your fractured soul.” His father and grandfather sputtered, going red in the face as the two wizards continued to ignore them and discuss their deaths calmly.

Grindelwald smiled, a toothy grin that was out of place among the fear and gun handling of the Muggles. He switched his focus and with quick aim took all three Riddle’s out, felling them like great timber one after another.

“Well?” Grindelwald asked Tom, gesturing to the dead bodies, the Muggles that never even had a chance at life once chosen and marked for death.

Tom patiently talked Grindelwald through the ritual. At the very end, Tom stopped and asked, “What are you going to use to house your soul?”

“I don’t have anything with me, really…” Grindelwald trailed off, biting back a moan of pleasure as its intoxicating power swept through his body. He would do this a thousand, no, a million times to experience the feeling of euphoric lust and power. Not even the most talented of whores would be able to bring him such an orgasmic rush.

“I only have my school journal,” Tom muttered, pulling out his unused diary that he had yet to use. “unless you want to use something here?”

“The diary is fine,” Grindelwald grunted, trying to focus on not being swept away on the tide of bliss that roiled through him.

The diary was presented and soon enough, Grindelwald was split. Half of his soul in the diary clasped in Tom’s arms and the other half in the body that should have felt the mutilation but didn’t. Tom held out the small book to his master in a state of shock. Never did he think that Grindelwald would actually go through with it. Seeing it first hand was a lot different from learning theory and Tom knew that he would have to find another, different way to ensure his immortality. It was clear to him that Grindelwald couldn’t even understand the extent of the change he had undergone and like a drug addict, Grindelwald basked in his high.

With a flick of his wand, Tom cleaned the blood and gore from the room, and stitched the skin of his blood kin together so they would appear as if only sleeping. Not a single mark on their bodies would be found.

He clutched the diary to his chest and leaned down, pulling his master to his feet and towing him out of the room. The haze of the power rush cleared as soon as Grindelwald hit the warm summer air and he pulled his arm out of Tom’s grasp.

“The moment you graduate, come to me. I will teach you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Yes, master,” Tom mumbled, the subservient epitaph falling clumsily from his tongue. It grated against everything he was but a deal was a deal and now, he was Grindelwald’s man.

Grindelwald disapparated away, leaving Tom clutching the diary, blood stained, to make his way back to Hogwarts alone. He had only minutes to clean up and think of a good alibi that his professors would believe.

In the end, he needn’t have worried. He stood in Headmaster Dippet’s office, head hung low, completely stunned as Dippet offered comfort for his _harrowing_ meeting with Grindelwald. After all, the best lie was the one that was made mostly of truth.

“My boy,” the Headmaster muttered soothingly if ineffectually. Tom stood there and took it all, unable to believe that Dippet was this stupid. It was almost willful suspension of belief that kept Tom out of trouble. Tom looked convincingly terrified and once he was out of Dippet’s office, with absolutely no consequences, he walked to the Slytherin common. The diary called out to him, darkening his thoughts, and he knew that he had to hide his master’s soul. He had to make sure that Dumbledore didn’t even catch a whiff of the dark magic contained within.

“Hey Tom!” Abraxas Malfoy called from the great leather monstrosity that stretched across the common room. “Did you hear about the new transfer student?”

Tom arched his brow, the only outward sign of his interest.

“What about it?”

“She is Dumbledore’s niece, and sorted into Slytherin. I bet Dumbledore is reaming her out right now. What is he going to do about ignoring us snakes now?” Abraxas crowed.

Tom rolled his eyes. As if he cared about a stupid transfer student, especially after the night he had. He walked to the stairs knowing that he would meet the new girl soon enough. In fact, he would bet every knut he possessed that he would be the one tasked with showing the new girl the ropes. It was his job as Prefect, a job he took seriously. He put his foot to the top step, moving to descend to the doors and paused.

“What’s her name?”

“Hermione Dumbledore.”

“Hermione,” He muttered. It was an unusual name and he wasn’t likely to forget it. Soon enough he would take her measure and most likely discard all thoughts of her in the same breath. Few could perform at his level and he expected little from her, even if she was related to the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore.

Tom walked to the dorms, wondering exactly how he was going to hide the diary. It absorbed his thoughts as he undressed after tucking the dark artifact deep into his second-hand trunk. Thoughts swirled long into the night, robbing him of sleep. The destructive miasma of the diary permeated through his psyche bringing to the forefront all his insecurities and fears.

Breakfast was loud, louder than Tom preferred. He squinted his eyes at the cheery ceiling and grimaced at the squeal emanating from the girl faction at Slytherin table. As much as he would have liked to claim sickness and lay abed, he knew that Dumbledore would be watching. With his niece now firmly embroiled into the snake pit, he had to be doubly careful. Abraxas was a fool the previous night, believing that Dumbledore would be unhappy placing a spy among Tom’s peers.  

“Tom, my boy!” Slughorn said jovially as he approached from behind, preventing Tom from reaching the table and the food. Beside him stood a girl, with wild brown hair and angry eyes. She pierced him with those cold eyes, eyes that shouted to all who cared to look her hatred of him, a veritable stranger. Who pissed in her tea? “This is Hermione, Dumbledore’s niece and just as brilliant as her esteemed uncle.”

“No doubt,” Tom said courteously, unable to hide his wince at Slughorn’s loud introduction.

“She is taking all the same classes as you, all advanced. According to Professor Dumbledore, she is at the top of every form. Some competition would be a welcome distraction, eh Tom? Especially in the form of such a fetching package!”

Tom had a difficult time containing his smirk at the horrified disgust that overtook Hermione’s face and wondered how she was going to survive in Slytherin with such Gryffindor tendencies.

“Indeed,” Tom said and Hermione’s eyes flew to his and narrowed dangerously once she realized that he was laughing at her. “It would be my pleasure,” he drawled, enjoying the emotions that flit across the new girl’s face. “to be your escort around the school until you are comfortable finding everything on your own.”

“That is a kind offer,” Hermione said through gritted teeth. “but as I told Professor Slughorn, it is hardly necessary. I am sure I would be able to find everything on my own.”

“How ungallant you must think me,” Tom widened his eyes with mock offense. “Surely, a gentleman would ensure a lady’s comfort. It would be churlish of you to refuse such chivalry, and I am sure you did not mean to cause offense. We shall be the greatest of friends,” Tom turned up the charm, watching Slughorn beam at him out of the corner of his eye. At first he wasn’t interested at all in being forced to show the new student around but the more he talked to her, the more rise he got out of her, the more he wanted to continue provoking her.

He didn’t completely understand why it felt so satisfying but it was killing two birds with one stone. He would be able to see more of her intriguing behavior and he could keep an eye on Dumbledore’s niece. It was perfect.

“Come sit next to me, Hermione, and I will do my best to make you feel at home here,” If fire could shoot from a person’s eyes, they would have already been flung from hers and he found that he wanted that fire directed at him. Passion and anger and something else raged within him at the sight of her meekly complying with his wishes in body, even if her spirt was cursing him to the deepest pits of hell.

This was going to be a good day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tom watched her with glittering eyes as she huffed loudly, her lips a thin sharp line that screamed disapproval, anger, and hatred. How was it that the girl was already so against him she couldn't even feign civility? What  _had_  the old bastard been telling her? He shifted his weight onto his other leg, wincing as Slughorn slapped him unnecessarily hard on the back in good ole boy fashion and left them standing awkwardly between the door and the table. She avoided his gaze and he unabashedly stared, knowingly making her even more irritated.

"After you," He murmured, still trying to drown out the sharp sounds coming from the active school body. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought he had a hangover, but it couldn't be. There was absolutely no drinking involved in yesterday's dark activities. Vaguely he remembered the look on Grindelwald's face as Tom pulled him from Riddle House after the Horcrux had been made. The revolutionary was stumbling and incoherent with euphoria, drunk on power and evil deeds. Tom really should have anticipated that the magical backlash would have affected him too.

The Dark Arts were many and varied, studied only by the most brilliant or foolish of wizards. And even fewer who had delved as deep as he had, and none that he knew of that made a Horcrux. Who knew what the residual effects of such magic were. He pushed the dark thoughts to the back of his mind, occluding fiercely, knowing that the Great Hall was hardly the prime spot for such dark introspection. His expressionless eyes swept the Professors at the head table and caught the twinkling blue eyes of Dumbledore. Tom forced himself not to grimace at the Transfiguration Professor and turned his attention to piling his plate with food.

Hermione was sitting stiffly next to him, trying to maneuver without touching or looking at him and he couldn't help but be amused. During his entire Hogwarts career, his peers fell into three categories. Those that wanted to ride the coattails of his power, those that wanted to use him for their own quests for power, and those that liked him well enough but dismissed him in the same thought. More the fool, they. Never, had he met anyone, besides Dumbledore, who disliked him. Even among his elders, there were few who were wary.

But Hermione was something other. Even Dumbledore treated him with a careful scrutiny but not her. So far, she had treated him as if she  _knew_  he was from the darkest pits of hell instead of just suspecting as in Dumbledore's case. He had a hard time believing that her animosity was solely based on her Uncle's word. It was a puzzle that he intended on figuring out. And he had no doubt that his interest would wane as these questions were answered. Until then, she was the most interesting person, besides himself, in the whole castle.

His arm brushed against hers and didn't fail to notice that she flinched at the touch. Perhaps she was Dumbledore's spy? Dumbledore would have only placed someone next to him that would interest him. It would make the most sense.

Leaning towards her, Tom watched her struggle not to stiffen further as the back of his hand brushed against her wrist and to appear unruffled. Unconsciously she leaned away from him, a grimace marring her face for several moments before she got herself back under control. He pretended not to notice and reached past her and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

"You can call me Tom," he said nonchalantly and bit back a smirk, withdrawing his hand, making sure to brush her thigh as he adjusted his robes as if unconsciously. All the while he turned his attention back to food in front of him. Scooping a small pile of scrambled eggs and fruit onto the plate, he avoided the heavy greasy food with a vengeance. The rich foods of Hogwarts were something that he was never able to get used to after years of bland, yet nourishing muggle food provided by Wool's Orphanage. Not to mention the scarcity of it, which was a side effect of living during the muggle war.

"If I'm lucky," she muttered under her breath, "I won't call you anything at all."

Tom snorted and speared a strawberry with his fork and popped it in his mouth, chewing it slowly. He winced again as Agatha Marchbanks released a shrill peal of laughter, seemingly right in his ear despite the half of the table between them. Once again, his thoughts were drawn to the forbidden object in his school trunk. It sang to him, called out to the darkest desires that he still held tightly to his chest.

"You don't have to, you know." Hermione muttered, trying to lean in but not too close, making sure their conversation was relatively quiet.

"I don't have to what?" He asked distractedly, his mind now pondering the effects of carrying around a Horcrux and if the things it whispered to him were true. And if they weren't, how he could make it so.

"You don't have to show me around. I will be fine on my own,"

Tom paused, swinging his expressionless stare all on her. Was she stupid? He already committed himself in front of a teacher. There was no backing out now, surely, she had to know this. Perhaps she just wanted to confirm everything bad she had been told about him by her Uncle. Like hell was he going to allow that to happen. Plus, he had no intention of leaving her alone until all of his questions were answered.

One second ticked into the next as the world moved around them, their bodies the only ones frozen as they stared at each other. Tom was the first to move, leaning in with his patented lady-killer smile, a hint of lust, want, and need bleeding through. Most women could do nothing against it, immediately wanting to 'fix' him and his vulnerable self.

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to eating her piece of toast, missing the micro fury that disappeared from his face the moment it ran across. It was then that his knights sat opposite him, digging into the food and subtly watching the new girl.

"These are Abraxas Malfoy, Evan Rosier, Roald Avery, and Eugene Nott." Tom introduced politely the most magically powerful wizards in the school. Aristocratic sons that hailed from the most prestigious families of all his followers.

He could literally see the struggle on her face, forced to choose between being polite or sticking to her preconceived notions of them. Notions no doubt put in her head by her bothersome uncle.

"Don't believe everything Professor Dumbledore told you about us. He is a Gryffindor through and through and has always hated members of Slytherin. Even Tabatha Fawley, who we strongly believe should have been a Hufflepuff." Avery said, popping a small chunk of potato in his mouth.

"He hasn't told me anything about anyone," Hermione murmured.

"Then why do you hate us? You haven't even been here one day."

"I don't hate you," She said slowly obviously trying to answer them without lying. Tom hid a smirk behind his cup, taking a small drink. He didn't believe her for a second, watching her face twist into distaste. "Your reputations proceed you,"

Abraxas Malfoy rose one manicured brow and leaned over the table, throwing all of his Malfoy charm into it. "And what would those reputations be?"

"You, are a playboy and I was warned that you love them and leave them, that you aren't even available for something serious as you are already betrothed," Hermione said, her nose wrinkling. "And you," She said turning to Nott. "You are said to have peculiar tastes in your relationships, control issues that bleed into the bedroom." Hermione stopped to take a drink as Tom's eyes danced with unconcealed amusement.

"Who did you hear that from?" Malfoy asked, obviously highly affronted.

"Odessa Carrow. She seemed pretty certain."

Rosier snorted into his drink, before turning away and beginning a conversation with one of the other boys on his far side, clearly not wanting to hear what the gossipy Odessa had to say about him.

"And what did Miss Rosier say about me?" Tom asked, lips quirking.

"Prepare yourself for something dreadful," Hermione smirked.*

Tom rolled his eyes and popped a strawberry into his mouth and chewed lazily. He gave her a pointed look, demanding that she get on with it, knowing that Odessa had a horrible crush on him. The same crush she had been nurturing since their first year when they rode the boats across the Black Lake together.

"She said that you were off limits if I knew what was good for me and that I would be foolish to try anything because you were hers."

"That's hardly a good reason to hate me. She is delusional and has no claim on me."

"No one does, do they," Hermione muttered so quietly that Tom nearly missed it. A small dent appeared above his left eyebrow as he considered the deeper meanings of what she said. Either she knew far more about him than he initially surmised, or she was bitterly lashing out. But why in the world would she choose him, Head boy, out of all the potential angsty nemesis's available?

Excitement bubbled in his stomach as he set the glass of pumpkin juice down and hefted not only his bag but Hermione's as well. If he was going to prove to her what an upstanding and desirable man he was, he was going to have to put on an incredible show. The only option to avoid further suspicion from Dumbledore was to assuage her fears and the best way to do that was to convince her of his innocence. She would see only what he wanted her to.

"You don't need to do that," Hermione said munching on the small triangle of toast that she pilfered from the Great Hall and gesturing to the second bag slung over his shoulder.

"It is my pleasure to escort you. Where  _are_ you from that the male students do not offer this courtesy?" Tom asked, turning a charming smile on her and watched as her face bloomed red and her eyes were cemented to the floor. The smile dropped from his face as something clenched in his belly and the desire to deepen her blush became all-consuming.

Tom slowed down so that his shoulders slightly bumped hers as they walked down to the potions lab in the dungeons for their first class of the day. She continued to avoid his gaze as his eyes traced the flush of her skin. He studied it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, drawn by the power he held over her. Everything out of his mouth caused such a delicious reaction in her. It was addicting.

"Things are different in my other school," She said finally. She looked up at him and her eyes widened at the look in his. As usual, he couldn't help the lust to solve the puzzle, and this time it was Hermione Dumbledore, the girl that dropped in on them out of nowhere.

The doors to the potions lab stood open, an invitation for early students to come in and find their seats. Tom led the way in and dropped her bag on one side of a table in the front and slid into the vacant seat next to it.

"I am not going to partner with you. Why don't you just partner with whoever you usually do."

"I don't have a partner. Since I am the top student and there is an uneven number of students, I was chosen to work alone. Now you are here, and you will be partnered with me no matter what you say. Professor Slughorn likes that you are Dumbledore's niece and that you are Slytherin. He won't be able to resist testing you out. Most likely, he will try to recruit you for his Slug Club. And with me being the top student, unattached, and with a most promising future, he will be unable to help himself trying to become a matchmaker. I know him well. To him, this is fate that brought us together."

"Personal experience, eh? Been set up a time or two? No one interested in the Great Tom Riddle?" Hermione said smugly before turning her haughty glare on to him. "Don't worry about all the rejection, there is always Odessa Carrow. No doubt she will do whatever she has to do to make it up to you,"

Tom looked away to give himself a moment to control his anger. How did she get under his skin so easily? It was nothing more than what others had said. But coming from her, it burned like a thousand red-hot needles being shoved through his skin. Well, he wouldn't let her get away with it. He turned around and leaned against the potions table, crossing his arms over his chest, and gave her the sexiest smile he could.

"How can I focus on her thoughts, needs, and desires when all I can think about is you?" he leaned into her and whispered seductively in her ear. The clenching in his stomach to further tightened at the shiver that ran through her whole body and goose pimples broke out all over her skin as her warm breath glided over his neck. "Cold, love?" He purred, struggling to appear unruffled. It wasn't him that was supposed to be affected. Damn.

She whipped her head around despite the blush and glared as if he were some annoying mud that was sucking at her shoes during spring thaw. The curly hair flying around her head began to spark and the angrier she got, the higher the electric pulses jumped. They captivated him, drawing his eyes, as he silently mused what it meant that she had such a tangible manifestation of magic. The burning to acquire magical knowledge rose within, nearly choking him. She just became even more interesting and the only thing she did was lose her temper.

"Fuck you, Tom Riddle," She whispered ferociously. Turing in her seat, she faced front and he could feel the fury in the way she ignored him for the rest of the lesson.

Taking out his note scroll and a large black and green feather, he prepared for the lecture of the day. Every few minutes he would lightly run the feather tip on the skin of her neck, right above the collar of her robes. Always seemingly by accident but it never was. Early on she clenched her fist and her angry blush deepened into a crimson that would have proudly adorned any Gryffindor flag. Still, she persevered in her scorn, giving him the coldest cold shoulder of his life. That feeling in his stomach moved into his chest and began roaring with approval.

Unable to fully concentrate on the lesson, he took notes as if on autopilot and brainstormed his next move. People like Hermione and Dumbledore needed to be kept on their toes. Always keeping her sexually frustrated would eventually land his arse in hot water. Plus, he didn't want to appear interested. Even if he was. By the time class ended, he was set on his new course. As hot as he ran in the morning, he would run just as cold for the rest. One minute he panted after her and the next supremely uninterested. It worked every time Abraxas did it and there was no one more skilled in stinging girls along and getting what he wanted out of them.

Once the lesson was finally over, Tom shouldered both bags and before she could say anything, he was out the door and down the hall. She quickly caught back up to him and he turned away, unwilling to show her the full smile that tugged at his lips. She was already in his thrall and she didn't even know it yet.

As they walked through the halls, students of all houses and years called out to him, shouting their hellos or thank yous or their results of a test. Everyone wanted his attention and he gave it. Never showing anyone the fury that pounded through his head, fueled by the seduction of the Dark Arts from the Horcrux that whispered enticing promises in his head.

*Quote from Pride and Prejudice when Colonel Fitzwilliam asks Elizabeth Bennet about Darcy's behavior at the ball in Meryton.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience during our move. Your positive comments have been a source of comfort during all the stress. Thank you!

**Chapter 3**

Tom escorted Hermione to their next class, Charms, and waved her in before him, stopping Rosier with a single gesture just outside the door. He watched as Hermione choose a seat and looked around at all the curious faces around her. She smiled weakly, obviously a bit out of her element and uncomfortable. Just the way he wanted her.

"What's up, Tom?" Rosier asked deferentially.

"Tell the Knights that our meetings are canceled until I say otherwise."

"Why?"

"Do you think that it is a coincidence that Dumbledore's niece shows up right before our weekly meeting?" he sneered at Rosier, wondering if he was always this stupid.

"You think Hermione has something to do with that?"

"Why else would she be here? If she had wanted to attend Hogwarts, she would have come at eleven."

Rosier nodded, deep in thought. "We'll keep an eye on her. I'll pass it along."

"No, I will keep an eye on her. You will pass my message on and do exactly as I say."

"Alright, Tom," Rosier said meekly and walked into the classroom, sitting in front of Hermione.

Tom followed more sedately, smirking as he noticed that his classmates had left the seat next to Hermione open for him. He slid into the seat and pulled out his books, looking up only when the professor began the lecture.

Over the course of the class, he kept glancing over at Hermione and was growing increasingly agitated. It seemed the more he ignored her, the happier and more relaxed she became. It irked him to no end that his plan was already backfiring.

The end of the lesson couldn't come soon enough.

There was nothing for it, he would have to abandon his plan. She was not like other girls, or so it seemed. Hermione wasn't a girl so easily manipulated by his attention.

Tom dropped his quill on the floor and reached for it, making sure to brush her thigh as he sat back up. He felt her go rigid and something fluttered in his chest. A mere touch had her full attention trained on him. He felt powerful having so much control over her reactions. It was addicting.

"Tom, can you demonstrate the proper technique?" Professor Hornby said as Tom sat fully in his seat.

He stood and adjusted his robes, slipping into the mind of the elder Charms professor to pluck out the exact assignment. The Bubble-head charm. Tom nearly rolled his eyes. He had far surpassed the level of these classes and had yet to be taken off guard by teacher or student since his second year.

With a flick of his wrist, his face was encased in a pliable bubble, something that would enable him to breathe in an environment where the air was inadequate.

Professor Hornby clapped his hands. "Perfectly cast. Keep in mind class, when casting this charm, the flick of the wrist is the most important aspect. The wrist can neither be too relaxed nor rigid. All it takes is a happy medium. I want three feet of parchment on the Bubble-head charm and what the three major mistakes and outcomes are. Due next Friday. You are all dismissed."

Tom canceled the charm, put away his books, and picked up his bag. Hermione was packing up slowly next to him with a barely suppressed grimace.

"Something the matter?" Tom leaned in and whispered into her ear.

She sharply shook her head and picked up her pace. "Next is lunch. I am confident that I can find the Great Hall. I would hate to take up all of your time."

"Nonsense. What kind of Head Boy would I be if I just abandoned you now?"

"The busy kind," she mumbled, and he smirked, ridiculously pleased that even she knew how much he was affecting her. Even if she was trying to deny it.

"Not too busy for you though," He reached around her, effectively caging her in against the desk. Her back pressed into his chest as he grabbed her bag from her hand. He paused for a moment as her scent hit him like a ton of bricks. She smelled sweet, like apple blossoms but with a tang of something darker, unidentifiable and yet, familiar. And it captivated him. It was alluring, and he was bewitched.

"Riddle?" Her disapproval dragged his dazed senses back to reality and he retreated a step before shouldering her bag. Rosier was just at the door with an unfathomable expression as he looked back at them. Tom scowled at him waiting for his knight to leave before turning back to Hermione.

"After you," he said quietly, disturbed far more than he would ever let on. It was Hermione that was supposed to fall all over herself to get his attention. It was Hermione that was supposed to be at his mercy, not the other way around.

He clenched his teeth and struggled to place the scent that mesmerized him. They walked to the Great Hall in silence, both walking tensely, both avoiding the other.

Hermione sat at the table and Tom dropped her bag next to her before rounding the table to sit on the opposite side. There was no reason to push the boundaries of what he was willing to endure. He knew that smell but from where…

The moment he sat, a beautiful snowy owl landed next to him and held out its leg and Tom quickly untied the missive from its leg. He handed the bird a small chunk of chicken and watched as the bird gulped it down, taking wing only when it was good and ready, an arrogant bird if he ever saw one.

Tom could feel Hermione's curiosity from across the table and looked up to meet her eyes. Immediately she looked away, her brows meeting in a troubled frown. Tom chuckled shakily, still disturbed that she had so successfully ensnared him with that dark sensuous aroma wafting from her skin.

He unrolled the parchment, caught the ring that slid into his palm, and read quickly, frowning.

_My most useful spy and servant,_

_I have created another invaluable object. There is no better place to hide them than under the nose of one of the most powerful wizards of all time. Dumbledore would rather die than let the castle be taken. Hide them well, Tom Riddle, and I will reward you._

_Master_

Tom held the ring up to eye level and couldn't ignore the loud gasp that seemed to be forced out of Hermione. With her eyes glued to the ring, he was able to slide into her mind, gently, easily, as if she had no defenses at all.

_Hermione cradled the ring that had a large crack that divided the stone nearly in two. Her eyes weren't on the ring but on a dark-haired boy no older than she was. A boy whose limbs were being quickly overtaken by the black taint of a dark curse. His screams filled the dilapidated cottage that they were standing in and he writhed in agony on the dirt floor._

" _Harry," She choked. A long-fingered hand held her at the waist, pressing her back into the solid wall of a masculine body._

" _Don't touch him. There is nothing you can do," A dark sensuous voice murmured into her ear._

" _He will die!"_

" _Yes, and you can blame your loyalty to a deranged old man who sent children to destroy a Horcrux."_

" _Can't you heal him? You have so much experience, so much power."_

" _I cannot. Not even Tom Riddle could save him now."_

" _But you are Severus Snape! Do something!"_

" _There is nothing I can do,"_

" _Please," Hermione sobbed, and Snape turned her and drew her into his arms. He tucked her head under his chin as agony transformed his face while he stared down at the suffering boy._

Tom slid out of her mind, shocked at the emotional memory that the ring conjured. Not only did it solidify in his mind that Hermione Dumbledore was here for him, but it also told him that Hermione was a time traveler. A girl from the future. A girl in the arms of another man. A girl that he doubted was a relative of Dumbledore at all.

She became a thousand times more fascinating. And if some of the swirling anger in his gut was jealousy, he would never admit to it.

Abruptly she stood from the table and he could tell she was about to flee. He couldn't have that. He stood as well and grabbed his bag just as she abandoned hers and fled the Hall.

"Mulciber," he muttered, swinging his bag into his follower's gut, causing him to gasp. "Bring my bag and Hermione's to Slytherin Common after lunch."

"Of course, Tom," he muttered, lowering his eyes back to his plate deferentially. This affirmation was all he needed before he followed Hermione out of the Great Hall.

In her agitation, she had run up the enchanted stairs instead of heading toward her room and he followed her, tucking the ring and message deep inside an inner pocket. She quickly outpaced him, as the stairs changed just a moment too soon, cutting off him from following.

He searched the castle in every spot she could have possibly gone but came up empty-handed. It was completely by chance that he came across her, sobbing into her knees, back leaning against the Gryffindor common room passage.

She must have been a Gryffindor in her previous life.

Tom squatted in front of her and ran his fingers down her arms. It unsettled him that she was so completely out of control. It was a new experience for him, the uncomfortable feelings her distress caused him.

"Hermione?" he asked, but she wrenched her arms out of his grasp and covered her face.

"Leave me alone!"

"Is there a problem here, Tom?" The fat lady asked him, ready to run for the Headmaster at a moment's notice.

"I don't know yet," he murmured, trying to keep the façade of his pristine reputation in place in front of the castle's paintings. Paintings that he was sure reported to Dumbledore instead of Dippet. "I'll take care of her. Take her back to our common room." The painting went silent and he hoped she didn't run straight to Dumbledore. He needed a moment to figure out what he was going to do with her, what he wanted from her.

"Hermione, you can't stay here. You are scaring the little Gryffindor's." He gestured to the three first years at the end of the corridor that were milling around in confusion.

"It's all over," she balled. "I failed."

"Why is that?"

"You've already made them, your Horcruxes. Two of them and faster because I was here! Nothing matters anymore."

She knew his former plans, but she had it all wrong. These Horcruxes weren't  _his_. Even if they were relics from his life.

"Why are you here, Hermione Dumbledore? Is that even your name?"

Hermione's eyes were dead, despair was drowning her from within. He could feel it like a punch to the gut. She was giving up and it had everything to do with the boy writing on the floor, dying in agony. He was sure of it.

Ignoring the growing spectators, Tom gathered her into his arms and pressed her to his chest. That dark enchanting smell smothered him, and he reveled in it with each step he took with her in his arms. His destination was close and private, only slowing his pace as he reached the painting of Barnabus the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet.

_I need somewhere to talk in private._ Tom thought as he paced three times in front of the painting, imagining the room where students of all throughout time hid their contraband. An unfamiliar door popped into being in front of him and he paused.

"The room becomes what you ask for it," Hermione mumbled from his shoulder. He nodded in acceptance, ridiculously pleased she opened up to him.

The room was Tom's idea of cozy, which in reality, wasn't cozy at all. Cathedral ceilings, eight-foot paintings, gold leaf, and curving French furniture transformed the space into something most likely found at Versailles. A pleased smile curved his lips and he sat on one of the couches, Hermione on his lap.

"It's not mine," He said, conversationally into her hair. He was coming to the realization that he wanted her. His little sojourn into her memories proved her to be infinitely intriguing. A Horcrux hunter from the future. Her profession alone captured the romanticism of power. Something that called to him, seduced him. That dark but familiar aroma that dazzled him so completely was something that he smelled once and only once. The day Grindelwald created his first Horcrux. The taint of it probably surrounded him too.

"What?" she murmured.

"The Horcrux. It's not mine."

"If it's not yours, then whose is it?" she said with a derisive twist of her lips.

"Grindelwald's."

"You are lying!"

He grabbed her hand with one of his and turned it over as he reached into his pocket with the other, drawing out the ring. He dropped it into her palm.

She held it up to her face and inspected it thoroughly before bringing her eyes back to his, accusation fairly dripping from the orbs.

"I know this is yours. It is the Gaunt family ring."

"Yes, it is from the Gaunt line, but I wasn't the idiot who transformed it into a Horcrux. I was there when he did it, made the first one. If he had any sense at all, he would have stopped there, but I have a feeling that once that line has been crossed, the maker can no longer see the damage done. Only a fucking idiot would make one after seeing it done. The damage is irreparable."

"Prove it," she breathed.

"Prove what?"

"Prove that it's not yours."

"How would you like me to do that?"

"Kill it,"

"Bloodthirsty little time traveler aren't you," he murmured with a smile as she became rigid in his lap.

"How?"

"You have no defenses in your mind when you are distraught."

"Harry," she murmured sadly, remembering the only memory that could have possibly given Riddle entrance.

"That was a brutal way to die," he said, still cradling her against his body.

"It was," she agreed.

"I think we should come to an agreement and seal it with a vow."

"What kind of agreement? What are your terms?"

"I will help you destroy all of the Horcruxes, promise never to make any of my own, help you take down Grindelwald, and help you prevent your friend's death in such a manner,"

"And what do you want in return?"

"Your loyalty, your fidelity, your knowledge. Everything."

"Fidelity?"

"I find you captivating and all I can think about when I look at you is if you taste as good as you smell."

"I don't trust you. In my time, you are the villain, the nightmare we were all trying to destroy."

"Then we are at an impasse. I won't give up so much of my plans without getting something of equal value." He pressed his lips against her temple, inhaling the provocative smell of her power. "When you are ready to capitulate to my terms, you know where to find me."

He stood and deposited her on the couch, walking away without looking back. There was so much at stake and he refused to give up everything that he wanted just to get a taste now.

It was curious though, that she thought those were his Horcruxes. Even if she came back to change things, to change him, he had made his choice against creating them before he even met her, before she even came back. It was curious because Dumbledore was the one who sent her back and Tom was the target. He became Dumbledore's scapegoat and he was going to find out why. Why was Dumbledore protecting Gellert Grindelwald, the most feared Dark wizard revolutionist ever seen? It was curious.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Tom sat on his bed staring at Grindelwald's two Horcruxes, debating what he should do with them. It was painfully obvious that he couldn't keep them in his school trunk any longer. The way that the diary kept whispering to him unnerved him. By all accounts, it should be trying to drown him in his fears, not seduce him with his wildest fantasies.

He wasn't going to lie; the things they said appealed to him- regurgitated his own beliefs and dogmas which allowed him to flame his opinions into a righteous fever. It was not how he usually liked to operate, preferring reasoned and well thought out self-debate and research.

Over the last two days, he felt completely out of control, ever since the first Horcrux was made and he knew that it would only get worse with time. He grimaced as he remembered exactly how much he offered Hermione.

He couldn't deny his attraction; couldn't deny that he wanted her more than he wanted anything. Why though? He pondered, letting his face fall into the cradle of his hands. She was just a woman, powerful though she may be. Weren't his plans for world dominion more important? And he was compromising them, for her  _fidelity_? He groaned.

It was no secret to those who knew him that he refused to share anything that he perceived as his, unwilling to let anything go that others may find value in. Was that what he was doing? Forcing her to be his, forever, because, like a petulant child, he refused to ever let her go? He groaned into his hands again. She had crawled in his brain, refusing to be expelled. The girl had only been in Hogwarts for a short time and already, his whole life has changed.

The moment he closed his eyes, he saw her in that memory once again, tucked under another man's chin. An unaccountable rage flared as he imagined the long fingers of her colleague rub her arms intimately. Somehow, he was able to block out the reason that she took shelter in the man's arms. It just didn't matter the reason. Not to him. The memory fueled the unquenchable fire in his stomach. The fire that demanded he make her his; to battle and defeat any and all who would dare challenge him.

And there lied the crux of the problem. What was it about her that drew him so intensely? Why had his plans changed so profoundly just because of her? Tom shook his head. That wasn't completely true. The things he saw when Grindelwald made his first Horcrux changed him. It changed everything.

Ever since that moment, he realized he could never make a Horcrux, his plans morphed and mutated until they were nearly unrecognizable. Hermione just happened to be the catalyst for the basis of his new and improved agenda. With her by his side, he could successfully sidestep the obvious mistakes he would make in the future. And the biggest landmine in his way appeared to be Dumbledore.

Tom rubbed his face and stared up at the green canopy above his head. Why would Dumbledore pin Tom as the creator of the Horcruxes? Tom didn't actually end up working for the deranged lunatic of a revolutionary, did he? He snorted. Bloody unlikely!

There was one way that he could be certain. Hermione could tell him. Tom sighed. There was no way she would tell him anything voluntarily. She didn't trust him because she thought that he was a monster. He highly doubted that she believed a single word of what he told her the previous night.

There was one way… but it would be a lot of trust on his part, an act of good faith. It would require him to give her something without getting anything in return, at first anyway. Perhaps, he could afford to be generous, after all, it was the end game he was working for.

Sliding off his bed, he made his way to his trunk and placed Grindelwald's Horcruxes back under heavy concealment charms before laying down in bed. His decision was made. It was time to bring Hermione on board.

**HGHG**

Tom skipped breakfast in the Great Hall after tasking Abraxas with making sure Hermione was well cared for and quickly made his way into the office of the one person in the whole school that was his true enemy.

With a light rap on the door, Dumbledore's usual jovial voice floated through.

"Come in," the raspy voice murmured, seemingly pleased even if his trademark twinkle was unaccountably missing.

"Professor Dumbledore," Tom said as he pushed through the door with a small, respectful smile. It was the same song and dance that they had been playing for years now. Neither liked the other, neither showed it.

"What can I do for you this morning, Tom?" Dumbledore asked as he gestured to the seat opposite his desk, as he himself sat in his own chair.

"I've come to talk about your niece, Hermione."

"Oh? Is something the matter?"

"Not per se," Tom affected a small smile, willing his cheeks to color in an unnatural flush. As he looked up at Dumbledore, a fervent shine in his eye. "I would like your permission to date her."

"To date her?" Dumbledore repeated skeptically.

"Mm-hmm," Tom looked down at his hands which he had folded in his lap, moving his thumbs together, as if he were nervous. He wasn't but he didn't want Dumbledore to know that. He planned on bringing Hermione into the fold no matter what Albus Dumbledore said.

"Why?"

"She's smart and talented- brilliant really," He smiled; a real smile this time. "And she is so kind, to everyone. Hermione lights up the room with her passion and ambition. Her sense of justice is stronger than I've ever seen, even among the Gryffindors. Her determination on getting to the bottom of things is quite awe-inspiring," This was the one part of the conversation that wasn't contrived nor was the truth stretched, because Hermione was all of these things, and so much more. "And not to mention, how beautiful she is."

Dumbledore studied Tom, watched the minute difference between the little dance that they always used to keep each other at arm's length and the way he looked while talking about Hermione. If Dumbledore wasn't looking for a shift, he would have never noticed. His eyes widened a fraction with surprise. And if Tom hadn't been watching him in turn, he would have missed it as well.

"She is all of those things," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair as he steepled his fingers under his chin, his mind obviously whirring with the possibilities.

Tom struggled to keep his face impassive, even as triumph bubbled up his throat. He knew that Dumbledore was in a predicament. Could he really say no, when it was obvious that Tom truly liked her? And he did. He truly did. When it gave Dumbledore an into his tight circle, Tom knew that he would win in the end. Dumbledore would give his blessing and it would give Tom the time he needed to convince her that he was where she needed to be. By the time Dumbledore realized that he lost her, it would be too late.

"Hermione is the beloved daughter of my brother," Dumbledore began as he searched Tom's eyes. Tom could feel the intrusive probe and strengthened his mental walls. Dumbledore retreated, unsatisfied. "and I don't think you are the right boy for her. Sometimes interest isn't enough, Tom."

Tom took a second to process the rejection, wondering where it had gone wrong. He had been so sure that Dumbledore would jump at the chance to plant Hermione inside the inner workings of Tom and his 'friends'. It didn't even matter that Hermione wasn't actually related to the Dumbledores. If  _he_  were Dumbledore, he would have given his blessing in a heartbeat.

"Why? Because I am an orphan, not pureblooded, or wealthy?" Tom asked. He knew why, and it was none of those things.

"You forget, Tom, that it was me who told you that you were a wizard, That I was the one who talked to Mrs. Cole. What is it that you really want with Hermione?"

"I want to get to know her,"

"You have never dated at Hogwarts. Why now?"

"I've never met anyone like her before,"

"You know," Dumbledore said, his face morphing into deep disgust.

"Excuse me?" Tom asked, still playing the game.

Dumbledore put on a strained smile, still devoid of his twinkling and said, "I trust Hermione and I highly doubt you are the type of boy she is looking for. By all means, you are free to ask her but if she says no, as I believe she will, you will leave it at that. Understood?"

"So, you are saying that if she says yes to me, I will have your blessing?" Tom asked, brows drawn together in mock hope and sincerity.

" _If_  she says yes then so be it,"

Tom couldn't help the wide smile that tilted his lips up. Dumbledore may have been confident that she would say no to his suit, but he shouldn't have assumed that Hermione was anything less than brilliant. Now that she knew that those Horcruxes were not, nor ever would be his, Tom was confident that she would side with him. After all, the entire reason she came back in time was to stop the Horcruxes from ever being made. Or in this case to destroy them before that boy in her memory died an agonizing death while trying to destroy it.

He nodded at Dumbledore and left the Transfiguration professor's office. And the whole time he was leaving, that pensive look overtook Dumbledore's face. The uncomfortable one that showed that he was thinking, planning, scheming.

"I knew I would find you here," Hermione said from where she had leaned against the wall, across from the doorway he just exited. He quickly shut the door and warded it for good measure. He would hate to be interrupted. Plus, it was good for the old man to be kept on his toes.

Tom hid his surprise, for once being caught off guard. He truly thought that she would be in the Great Hall being closely guarded by Malfoy and Rosier. He really should stop being surprised.

"And why is that?" he asked propping his shoulder against the wall next to her, half boxing her in.

"This is the first time you left me alone and after last night, I knew you weren't going to let it go. We need to talk."

"We already talked. You know what I want."

"We both know you won't give up all of your plans for world domination just for a chance to get into my knickers."

"I want a bit more than just to get into your knickers," he said derisively. Hermione smirked and shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh yes," she murmured, leaning in and looking up. Her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips then her straight white teeth followed, nibbling on the tender flesh. His eyes were pinned on them, watching with rapt attention, even as her smell enveloped him. "You want my  _fidelity_ ,"

"I don't just want your fidelity. I want you exclusively. No secret meetings with Dumbledore, no going behind my back to take down Grindelwald. No other men period. I don't share."

"You want me to be your slave?" she asked incredulously. Tom smiled and leaned closer, nose filling with her scent. The intoxicating combination of her skin and potent magic.

"Not you. Being a slave would be a travesty. You and I would make a very good team, I think,"

"I will never do what you do."

"What is it that you think I do?"

"Even if you are not the one who made those Horcruxes, you are still Lord Voldemort. You kill people, lead others to do the same. Torture whoever you want. Destroy families. Target the defenseless like the Muggle-born children and their families."

"Ah, yes. The Muggleborns. Hermione, how can I possibly pass up a well-trained army? What do I care if the pureblooded want to 'cleanse' their bloodlines?"

"It's despicable!"

"Why do you care so much about what happens to Muggleborns?"

"Because I am one of them,"

Tom scoffed. "Unlikely,"

"You don't believe me?" Hermione raised her brows in incredulity.

"Not with your knowledge base,"

"You were raised by muggles. You are one of the most powerful wizards of all time. And you don't believe that hard work and determination are enough?"

"I am a half-blood from a prestigious family. Naturally, I would be better than everyone else."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. "Are you blind? Because I don't think you are stupid. Have you seen Mulciber? Or Fawley? Both are eighteenth generational purebloods and both of them are missing something important in their general makeup. Look at them," She gestured down the corridor to roughly where the Great Hall was. "Fawley can't do a simple charm without screwing it up and Mulciber is not even smart enough to mess up. He can barely hold his wand."

"I will admit they are not prime examples," He said and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "but just look at Rosier, Malfoy, Nott, and every single Black. It's not an accident."

"The Blacks are crazy. They have mental instability and they marry their cousins. Ew."

"So?" Tom said with a shrug as Hermione curled her upper lip.

"What about the Squibs? They show up most prominent in families that try to remain 'pure'."

"All wizarding families have Squibs, not just the pureblooded. And how can you account for the families of the Muggleborns? By your definition wouldn't a Muggleborn's family be Squibs?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, reminiscent of the goldfish he had seen once in a glass bowl in the window of one of the wealthier districts of London in his youth.

"Are you suggesting that magic is magic no matter where it comes from?"

"No. There is clearly those more talented than others and those wizards tend to come from prominent pure families."

"The four most powerful wizards in the last one hundred years have all been half-blooded."

"And then there is you," He said smiling. "An anomaly. Because even amongst the top echelons of power, there are anomalies."

"I am not the first nor the last powerful Muggleborn,"

"Mulciber is not the first nor the last pureblooded to be incompetent."

"So, what you are saying is Magic is Might," she grimaced as the horrible phrase left her lips, nearly choking her with the memories of that terrible statue in the Ministry that depicted wizard's dominion over the muggles.

"I like that," he nodded, and his smile grew wider. He lifted his free arm and captured one of the curls on her face, letting the soft tresses wrap themselves around his finger. He wanted to pull her closer, to taste her, to be the one who made her feel everything he felt.

"Why am I not surprised," sarcasm dripped from her lips as she pulled her hair out of his grip and tried to take a step away from the wall and him. He stepped with her, smoothing his hand on her hip, trying to pull her closer.

"Why can't you see I'm not the bad guy here. We could be so good together, you and me,"

"Until you destroy those Horcruxes all you are offering is lip service," Hermione said as she pushed his hand off her hip and whirled around, leaving Tom behind. He was frozen as he watched her walk away; her hips swaying and her robes fluttering behind her. Her smell wafted around him- drowned him.

_She will come to you just like power and recognition. Everything you could ever want will be yours._ Tom took a deep breath and tore his eyes from her retreating form. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could recognize the whispers of the Horcruxes telling him exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Meet me," Tom suddenly yelled down the corridor and nearly danced in victory when she paused. "meet me tonight in the Forbidden Forest at midnight and I will destroy them."

"It's a date," she said over her shoulder, continuing on her way to the great hall. Something inside Tom roared in approval and took root in his chest. He was willing to sacrifice the Horcruxes for Hermione's trust. After all, he needed to show her how committed he was before she would do the same.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Tom had no idea how Hermione planned to get out of the castle unseen, but he had faith that she would. He made his own way out of the giant front doors and sauntered to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, two Horcruxes in hand.

It had taken quite a bit of maneuvering to shake off his followers earlier. They knew something was going on and they were chomping at the bit to find out what it was. Malfoy especially seemed suspicious. Tom threw him off by tastefully dropping hints about a Ravenclaw girl that had been trying to get Malfoy's attention for days. Foolish witch should already know that Malfoy was betrothed. But the state of betrothal, in Malfoys case, did nothing to hinder the female population. They all wanted a piece of him. All of them, except Hermione.

Once he reached the edge of the forest, he leaned against one of the massive trunks of an ancient oak that lined the perimeter and waited. He had no doubt in his mind that Hermione would come, this was way too important.

Not long after he got there, Hermione arrived, dark cloak enveloping her whole body. He watched her approach with a smirk, waiting in the shadows, determined to make her search for him.

"I know you are there," Hermione said dryly.

"So I am," Tom stepped out of the shadow of the tree and walked to Hermione.

"Did you bring them?"

Instead of answering, Tom fished the journal out of his pocket and held it up in front of her face. She wrinkled her nose. He couldn't understand why she hated the smell of the magic on it so badly; it smelled exactly like her.

"We will need to go quite far in so that we don't set off any alarms at Hogwarts," Tom said as he tucked the journal back inside his robes. Hermione followed him quietly.

Nothing disturbed their journey. Every living being in the forest avoided them, knowing that something truly evil had entered their domain.

_Run your fingers over her face, her lips. She will part them for you and allow you every liberty. Slowly pop the buttons on her robe and watch how her body trembles at your touch. No one affects her like you do. She is more aware of you than she is of herself. Run your tongue over her collarbone and down between her breasts. She will throw her head back in ecstasy and bring her own hands up to thread through your hair. Let her unbutton your shirt and run her nails over your body._

Tom clenched his teeth against the unending flow of erotic thoughts that were pushed into his mind. He reached up and loosened his tie, hoping Hermione wouldn't notice the sweat beading on his upper lip. His trousers tightened uncomfortably when the words of the Horcrux suddenly turned into one of the most vivid images he had ever conjured.

_Hermione's robes were discarded, her white oxford unbuttoned, her ice blue satin bra bared to his observation, her tie hung to each side, framing her delicious breasts. Her skirt rode high on her thighs, Tom behind her, hands under said skirt, bum pressed into his groin. Her eyes were closed, her mouth in a small silent 'o'._

Tom cleared his throat and glanced at Hermione who was still walking along beside him. She was looking at him curiously and he fought hard to keep all of his thoughts off of his face.

"You okay?" Hermione asked.

"What? Yeah, yeah," He muttered distractedly as the Horcrux set off another round of erotic images.

Hermione abruptly stopped walking and forced him to stay in place as well. She reached into his robes and pulled out the journal, letting it fall to the ground. Quickly, Hermione pushed her hands back inside his robes and pockets searching for the second Horcrux.

"What are you doing?" He asked, voice slightly higher than normal as he tried to keep her out of his trouser pockets. If she didn't stop soon, she would know exactly what his problem was.

"These Horcuxes are doing something to you. I know what it's like…"

No. No, you don't. he thought as he fought to keep her hands away from his erection.

_Why are you fighting this? Let her feel exactly what she is doing to you,_

Merlin, Tom swallowed.

_Let her delicate hands wrap around your cock, let her fall to her knees, let her mouth-_

"Fuck!" Tom said throwing her hands away from him and he stepped back from her, holding his hand up between them, fending off her advance. It wasn't that he didn't want her, Merlin knew he did, but he also didn't want her to have all the power. Right now, he was nearly on his knees begging for a taste and Fuck all if he would ever, ever give up that much power to anyone, especially her.

"The ring! The ring! Throw it on the bloody ground! Get it off of you! That is the only way," Hermione yelled, frustrated that he wasn't paying attention and that he was obviously under the thrall of the Horcruxes.

Half out of his mind with desire, he pulled the ring out of his pocket and tossed it on top of the journal. Not that it mattered. The Horcruxes seemed to know what was going to happen and doubled up on their attack.

"What are they doing to you?" Hermione mumbled in horror, no doubt thinking that if the monster she thought him to be was in pain, it must be doing something so evil to him that her mind couldn't comprehend it.

It couldn't be further from the truth.

"Well, Miss Horcrux Hunter how can we destroy them," Tom panted, as he tried to block out the sexy images that flashed through his mind.  _Hermione naked in a bubble bath rubbing herself. Hermione on his bed writhing with his head between her thighs. Hermione on her knees, cheeks hallowed out from sucking his-_  "Oh gods," he whispered.

"There are a few ways. I thought you knew. I thought you prepared!" She screeched.

Tom closed his eyes, struggling for control. Six clockwise turns, let it rest five minutes until it turned bright yellow, then add the lacewing flies. He thought, still trying to block out the thoughts from the Horcruxes. Potions tended to calm him, to focus him, to deflate his urges.

It wasn't bloody working.

"Fiendfyre," he growled through his clenched teeth.

"We could destroy the forest using that!"

"Then give me another option!"

"Basilisk venom," she said.

"Give me another  _viable_  option!"

_Tell her to get on her hands and knees then push her skirt up to her waist and run your fingers in her hot, tight-_

"Any goblin made weapon imbued with basilisk venom…"

"Fiendfyre it is," He muttered. He stood tall and poured every ounce of will into Occlumency, hoping that would keep the images from overwhelming his concentration while he cast Fiendfyre. A spell that could easily overtake them if he wasn't careful.

He was only partially successful as the Horcruxes doubled up on their attack, forcing a thousand different scenarios of Tom enjoying Hermione's body. But he was able to shove it enough to the back of his mind to cast the complicated spell and sighed a breath of relief as Fiendfyre raged from his wand tip, wrapping around and devouring the two Horcruxes on the ground in front of him. They screamed, horribly and terrifyingly. If one could hear a soul dying, this is what it would sound like.

Then as he called the fire back to his wand, all sound stopped. For a moment, he thought he had gone deaf. But no, he could hear Hermione's heavy breaths to his left.

"Do you want to talk about it, Tom?" she asked.

"I did what you asked of me," He answered instead, trying to still his pounding heart. The words and images of Hermione in erotic positions had stopped but the wanting; that was still raging through him.

"I believe that the Horcruxes weren't yours," she agreed.

"If you can believe that, do you also believe that maybe I am not the man you think I am? The man that Dumbledore has made you believe?"

"Yes," She agreed before her face scrunched in confusion. "But then why would Dumbledore lie? Maybe he doesn't know."

Tom laughed, a dry unamused sound. "Sweetheart, he knows very well who made those Horcruxes."

"I can't believe that! He has always been on Harry's side, always for what was right."

"I think you have been fed the party line,"

"NO!" she yelled. "He always protected us!"

"From who? Me? I'm telling you now that I am not the bad guy here. Can you honestly tell me there was never any signs that Dumbledore may not be the man you think he is?"

He could see it on her face, the moment things began sliding into place. That feeling in his chest grew, that approval and need for her attention. He shifted his weight, hoping his erection would ease now that the Horcruxes were gone but she was close and soft and…

"I can't believe this," she murmured, hands fisted in her hair as she sank to the ground in front of him. "But it would explain why he sent Harry back to those people every year, why Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban as an innocent man, why Snape was bound so tightly to Dumbledore's will and forced to do any and all of his bidding, why the three of us were allowed to fight through dangers untold each and every year."

"Dumbledore is no saint,"

"Neither are you," she said.

He chuckled and leaned against the nearest tree trunk, glad that his erection was now manageable. He couldn't even imagine what sex with Hermione would have been like under the influence of those Horcruxes. Although, he had a sneaking suspicion that it would have ruined him for anyone else for the rest of his life. "I never claimed to be,"

"What are your plans? Since you don't plan on making any Horcruxes. Explain it to me,"

"Things need to change. That is something that both Grindelwald and I agree on. There is so much decay in the Ministry. All the power is held by the old wealthy families and the only thing they respect is bloodlines."

"Are you trying to convince me that you don't care about blood, but the horrible imbalance of power?" she asked skeptically.

"No. I hate muggles, if my father is any indication of what they are like, I have no desire to give them free reign."

Hermione nodded as if another piece of him fell into place.

"What? You don't approve?"

"My parents were muggles and they loved me,"

"I still have a hard time believing that. To me, it is much more likely that you were placed with those muggles on purpose, that you are not their daughter by birth."

"Is that what you think of all Muggle-borns?"

"Maybe…"

"That is ridiculous! I look just like my Mum!"

"Yes, because you couldn't have possibly been placed with a family that looked like the one you were born to," he retorted sarcastically.

"That makes absolutely no sense! Do you know how many children are Muggleborn? Or how much research that would take? The resources dedicated to that alone would be astronomical!"

"Okay let me ask you this, Hermione. Suspend your disbelief for one moment. What if I am right. If I am right, then why would the Ministry put so much into a deception such as this?"

"Occam's razor suggests that the simplest reason is probably the correct one. Is it so hard for you to believe that magic can run in nonmagical families?"

"Yes! I don't believe that something can materialize out of nothing!"

"Why do we always come back to this?" Hermione asked herself.

"Because it is a difference of core beliefs. Why don't we do an experiment or a side project together, hm? Shall we get to the bottom of it once and for all? I have invaluable contacts that would give us near carte blanche in the Ministry. You and I are two of the most intelligent students to pass through Hogwarts in over a hundred years. If you are right, I will grant you a boon, any boon that you ask of me. If I am right, I want the same,"

"You want to work together? I thought you preferred going solo,"

"Normally I do, but only because there was never anyone who was close to being my equal. You are."

"I'm flattered," she deadpanned before dropping her gaze. Hermione frowned which was a sure sign that she was deep in thought. He was so close, so very close to having her on board. Soon, he thought, soon she would be his.

"Alright," she finally said. "I will try to prove my theory and you will try to prove yours. There will be no manipulating the facts, no twisting the results. I want everything between us open, transparent. Raw Data. And if at the end, we have a clear answer, the one with the correct theory, will be granted one request from the other."

"No conditions on the request?" He mocked, knowing she wouldn't possibly leave herself so vulnerable, but then again, neither would he. He was counting on her to enforce conditions. She would be just as stringent as he.

"I won't do anything that could harm my soul. No Unforgivables, no dark magic. I will not sit idly by and watch as you do any of those things either."

"Not all dark magic is bad magic,"

She raised her brows and her lips thinned in stubbornness. He sighed.

"Fine. But you can't ask me to do something that goes against my own principals either,"

"Do you have any?"

"Indeed, I do. They may just not line up with yours,"

"That is rather ambiguous,"

"Indeed,"

"Fine, we have a deal." Hermione held up her wand and Tom touched the tip with his own, causing a flash to momentarily blind them. The magic they used was more about intentions than actual words. It would sufficiently protect them both.

Tom pushed off the tree trunk and stepped into her personal space. With a single finger under her chin, he tipped her head back and leaned over her so that his lips were nearly on hers. "Let's seal it with a kiss," he murmured and was surprised when she closed the space between them and molded her lips around his.

His erection was back full force and her hands were on his chest. For one moment shock froze him, letting her continue to be the aggressor. But soon enough he wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her close, forcing her body to conform to his. And he knew the precise moment she felt his body's reaction.

She sucked in air, surprised, before rubbing her body against his. He pulled back a fraction and waited for her to open her eyes and the moment they made contact, he sunk into her consciousness.

She was not as unaffected by the Horcruxes as he thought although hers was much less severe. His naked torso swirled in her thoughts, her concentration on the thin trail of black hair that ran from his navel to well below the placket of his trousers. He smirked and pressed his hand against her lower back, forcing her to grind harder into his erection.

"It didn't feel like this last time," Hermione said breathlessly, and he could see it now, in her mind, the horrible twisting fear that the Horcruxes made her feel in her own time. He wondered at it briefly but decided that it didn't matter right now. It was something to think about, later, when he was alone and hopefully pleasantly satisfied.

"I don't know what to tell you," He murmured. "I've never had any other contact with Horcruxes."

With that, he ended the Legilimency and claimed her lips again. Sinking happily into the feel of Hermione, the smell of her, and the marvelous thought that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Even with the death of his master's two Horcruxes, he still wanted her. Every part of her. Despite what was to come from his disobedience.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your readership support!  
> I'm sorry I haven't been putting out this story faster, considering the shorter for me chapters. I just can't seem to get it together, what with RL and all.
> 
> I do want to bring to your attention two things with this story. Please bear with me. I made a terrible mistake in the beginning. My original intention was a slow burn Tomione fic where all steamy bits would have occurred after he was 17. However, I realized three or four chapters in that my pacing was way off. Instead of months, I was only progressing days. At that time, I didn't think too much about it, knowing that pacing was not something I could easily change and decided to roll with it. Now I recently went back to the beginning and read chapter one. Why is unimportant, but it brought to my attention the fact that Tom Riddle was still just 16. So, for comfort's sake, I am changing his age to 17 almost 18 and they are in their 7th year. Yes, I know that he made the diary in 6th year. But I am more comfortable writing this story with Tom at this age. Hermione is 19.

**Chapter Six**

Tom pressed his head against the tile of the shower, one forearm braced against the wall above his head, and his other hand was wrapped around his cock as he slowly stroked himself. Panting in time with his pulls, he replayed that one scene in his head over and over; the night Hermione met him in the Forbidden Forest nearly one week ago.

_Tom spun them around and pushed Hermione back against the tree that he had been leaning against and pressed his lips against hers. His heart beat faster and faster as her intoxicating smell invaded his nose, sending bolts of pure lust straight to his cock. He was thick and heavy against the restrictive zip of his trousers and all he could think of was her body wrapped around his. Desperately, he shifted his body flush against hers, letting the tree behind her hold her in place. Her soft body sweetly molded around his harder toned one. And it was absolute bliss._

_He couldn't help grinding his erection into the soft curve of her belly even as he buried his hands in her wild curls, tilting her head back so that he had unrestricted access to her mouth, her lips, and that tongue. He was starved, deprived… He needed…_

_She hummed and slid her small hands around his hips and pulled him closer, impossibly closer. It bolted through him like lightning, pooling desire in his lower belly, turning his already hard cock into steel._

" _Hermione," he murmured against her lips, her name more of a prayer than a whisper._

_Smoothing one of his hands down over the curve of her face, he cupped her jaw and pulled his lips away, rubbing his thumb just under her lower lip, his other still buried in her hair. His body was still wound tightly, tense and wanting. She shifted against him, rubbing his erection deliciously which forced a moan from his throat._

" _Why are you doing this?" Hermione asked, chewing her already abused lower lip, her pupils blown wide with desire. His eyes were focused on them, her lips, which were a deep cherry red and plump from his kisses and her own teeth. He ran his tongue over his own lips, following the same exact path of his thumb under her abused flesh, noting with quite a bit self-satisfaction that his were in a similar state._

" _Kissing you?" his mouth pulled up on one side with a cocky grin._

" _Trying so hard to prove that everything I know is wrong,"_

" _If what you are saying about the future is true, then it's not what I envisioned for myself and I have this one amazing opportunity to become better."_

" _You want me to believe that you want to be a better person?" she asked dryly._

_He chuckled and leaned back in, moving his hand from her face to her hip caressing every curve in between. Sucking her swollen lower lip into his own, he traced its outline with the tip of his tongue. "I'm encouraging you to use your prodigious brain and form your own opinions about me from the truth."_

_Hermione moaned, digging her fingers into his arse. He smirked against her skin as his kisses trailed over her jaw and down her neck. He found that she loved his lips and tongue in the cradle of her neck and shoulder. She shuddered beneath his mouth and he kissed his way back up the column of her neck, bucking his hips into her sweet body._

" _I need," Hermione whined._

" _What do you need, Hermione?" he asked quietly into her skin, his voice low and husky as sin._

" _Oh Merlin," she groaned as his hand smoothed over her hips and grabbed the back of her thigh, helping her wrap her leg around his thighs. He wanted- needed more. He wanted to sink into her and never come out. He wanted the unending bliss that her body throbbed to give him._

_His hand caressed the skin of her knee, running his fingers up higher and higher under her skirt, letting his fingertips skim the elastic of her knickers between her legs. He could feel the blood pound through his body, through his cock, in time to his sucking kisses behind her ear._

With a loud moan, thick white ropes of his release coated the tile of the shower surround and he rubbed himself until he was completely spent. He stood there a moment, panting, watching the water rinse away the evidence of his desire. He shut his eyes, desperately trying to forget the rest of that night but it played cruelly behind his clenched lids. Transporting him as if he was back in that clearing.

_His probing fingers seemed to bring her back to earth. A mere few seconds passed before her hands were on his chest pushing him back. Tom froze before slowly dropping his hands from her sweet spot._

" _What's the matter?" he asked._

" _I can't," she choked. "This… I don't do this. This isn't me,"_

" _Hermione?"_

" _Let me go," she said. She had turned away, closed herself off from him, and he swallowed hard, feeling disappointment down to his very toes. He backed up, just like she requested and stood three feet away, his hands hanging limply at his side. His erection still out of control, tenting the front of his trousers painfully._

_He stood there and watched as she ran from him back towards the castle._

And she hadn't acknowledged him since.

He still walked with her to meals, in the halls between classes, and to the library but he might have been invisible for all the attention she paid him, and it wasn't for the lack of trying on his part either. Where a light touch once made her immediately aware of his every move, now it seemed as if nothing he did could affect her.

Tom struggled with the feelings he was wholly unfamiliar with; his longing and desire for the one person who very well could be his equal. He wanted to fix this thing between them. He missed her. He missed being her entire world.

He opened his eyes and continued with his shower, thinking of ways to get her attention as he washed his hair and body. Today was the day that he would force her to  _see_  him again. A small hopeful smile curled his lips as a very promising idea came to him.

He rinsed quickly and exited the shower, dressing faster than he ever had before, and that included the uncomfortable years in Wool's just before he got his Hogwarts letter.

All told, he was out of the dorms for a meeting with the Headmaster and back, standing in front of the Slytherin common entryway exactly three minutes before Hermione. He watched as her eyes slid over and past him as if he didn't exist, although she did break stride for one whole second. Perhaps it wasn't much, but it gave him hope.

Tom stepped with her out of the common room and took her bag, as he did every morning.

"I wouldn't have put myself in so much jeopardy with Grindelwald if I knew things were going to end up this way," Tom said, barely above a whisper, so that just the two of them would hear. "I don't think you understand exactly what I did for you that night. I didn't force you into a magical avowal. I didn't require your fidelity. I destroyed the Horcruxes in good faith, to prove to you that I am not who you think I am. So why? Why are you shutting me out?"

Hermione bit her lower lip and couldn't hide the guilty as hell look on her face.

"I risked everything that night," he whispered. "And you left me the moment you had what you wanted."

"No," She choked out, looking at him for the first time all week. "It wasn't like that!"

"What happened then?"

"I've never," She started before stopping abruptly and clenched her teeth.

"You never what? Don't try to lie to me and say you never saw the destruction of a Horcrux before," Tom said drily.

"No, I've… I… I…" She blushed and looked down and lowered her voice even lower. So low, he had a difficult time understanding her. "I've never had a boy touch me the way you did. And I wanted it. So, so much. It scared me,"

Understanding lit Tom's eyes and a slow smile spread on his face. She ran away from him because she  _felt_. He suppressed a chuckle and licked his lip, watching her avoid his gaze and blush. Suddenly, he felt the desire rush through his body, down to his toes. She must have been occluding harder than she ever had over the last week to make him believe there was nothing left between them for her.

With a twirl of his wand, a blood red rose grew, and he held it in front of her. A peace offering. "You don't have to be scared. Not of me,"

"You are Tom Riddle. There is no one else I should be more afraid of,"

"And here I thought we were making progress," He sighed, letting the hand with the rose fall to his side.

She plucked it from his fingers quick as lightning and brought the bloom to her lips, letting the silky petals glide over her hesitant smile. "We are," she whispered into the flower.

"Tom! Morning my boy," Slughorn boomed from somewhere behind them.

Tom pasted a genuine looking smile on his face, turned around, and said, "Morning Professor,"

"Oh ho!" Slughorn said noticing a blushing Hermione holding a very impressive transfigured rose. "Morning, Miss Dumbledore,"

"Good morning," she said, her blush deepening as the meddling professor began making approving eyes at Tom. Even going so far as to wag his brows.

"A wonderful morning for romance," he winked at Hermione and clapped Tom on the shoulder. Stepping around the pair of them, Slughorn made his way to the professor's table in the Great Hall, whistling the entire way.

"Mmmm… " Tom hummed as he walked to the Slytherin table and set down their bags. He turned and smiled at Hermione who was still standing near the door in a daze. She looked startled, staring. At him.

Finally.

He reached out for her, beckoning her to sit with him for breakfast.

The flurry of the owl post abruptly ended the moment they were having, and Hermione looked up, but he couldn't tear his eyes off of her. She was glorious, standing in one sliver of morning sunshine, admiring the owls.

"One of Hogwarts greatest traditions," Dumbledore said from behind Hermione. He may have been talking to his 'niece' but he was staring at Tom, a severe yet furious glint in his eyes. Tom walked over and stood next to Hermione, reflecting happily on Dumbledore's sour mood.

It had been the first time all week that Albus wasn't bouncing around twinkling as if he had just won a lifetime supply of woolen socks, and Tom knew that it was all because of the transfigured rose that Hermione still held to her face.

Tom smirked at Dumbledore, raising a single brow in challenge. Dumbledore's face darkened, and his nostrils flared in agitation, even as Hermione turned to look up at her 'uncle'.

"You call getting daily mail a tradition?" Hermione asked doubtfully.

"We could have someone accept the post in the owlery and then hand them out to the appropriate recipient at meals. There is really no need to have the owls come to breakfast every morning," Albus explained, relaxing his face into the caring, doddering grandfather that most of the student body could recognize across a Quidditch field.

Tom wasn't fooled. Never has been. There was just something about Albus Dumbledore that set him on edge. It could have been the blatant anti-favoritism towards Slytherin house. It could have been that very first meeting when Dumbledore came to Wool's to give Tom his letter. It could have been every single year that the wizard left him at Wool's despite the horribleness of the place. But Tom knew better now, especially after meeting Hermione.

How long was Tom on Grindelwald's radar? Just how  _interested_  was Grindelwald in him? More than he ever was in Albus? And it was Tom who talked Grindelwald into ripping his soul apart, ruining him. Tom would bet everything he would ever have that Dumbledore hated him with a burning passion for being powerful, handsome, and just dark enough to draw attention. Grindelwald's attention. Hermione's attention.

"There would be less mess," Hermione agreed as she looked between Albus and Tom with narrowed eyes. She was smart, his Hermione.

"What are your plans for the weekend, Hermione?" Albus asked in an overly friendly tone, trying to shut Tom out completely.

"We are working on a project together, Sir," Tom said.

Hermione looked at him with a raised brow. "We are?"

"Aren't we? Weren't you the one that wanted raw data and facts? We are going to have to interview some people if that is what you want,"

"We can't leave Hogwarts during the school year,"

"We can with permission,"

"Permission that I am not granting," Albus said firmly.

"We already have permission," Tom said as he pulled a folded pass out of his robes, the large florid signature of Armando Dippet front and center. It truly paid to be the favorite, shining pupil of the Headmaster. Especially in this moment. If looks could result in flames, Dippet's pass would be ashes.

"Where were you thinking of starting?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Septimus Malfoy has invited the both of us for lunch tomorrow. I thought we would start there,"

"In Malfoy Manor?" Hermione asked dubiously.

"That is where he lives, yes,"

Hermione's teeth snapped shut with a click and Dumbledore perked up at the news.

"By all means, I would hate to put a stop to such important research," Dumbledore said to Hermione, still looking at Tom.

Tom refused to show his confusion at Hermione's harsh reaction to Malfoy Manor. But it was clear to him that Dumbledore knew something that he didn't. Tom wished he could sink into her mind and view the memory that scarred her so badly. With Dumbledore here and watching so closely, Legilimency was not an option. If he had to hazard a guess, he would say that at some point in her Horcrux hunting, she ended up at Malfoy Manor, and judging by her reaction, it was not a pleasant visit.

He dropped his voice and moved closer to her, placing his hand on her elbow. "If you want me to ask Septimus to meet us somewhere else, I will do so,"

She shook her head. "I'll go,"

"This isn't a big deal. If you don't want to go, we can figure something else out."

"No. I'll go,"

"If you are sure,"

"I am,"

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said, completely insincere. He was openly glaring at Tom now.

"Come on Dumbledore, leave the lovebirds to their lovemaking and get up here," Slughorn said, throwing another bawdy wink at Tom, making Tom wince. Luckily, Dumbledore was looking at the professor's table, Hermione was the only one to see it. She bit her lips, obviously trying very hard not to laugh.

She booped him on the nose with the same rose that has been lucky enough to have been against her lips for the better part of five minutes. A waft of her intoxicating scent followed in its wake, drowning him in a haze of lust so powerful to render his early morning wank worthless.

"When do we leave?" Hermione asked him after nodding her goodbye to Dumbledore who left them with poor grace.

"What in the devil were you talking about so seriously this early in the morning, Albus?" Slughorn yelled across the room. Albus just waved him away, indicating that they would not be having that conversation from opposite ends of the Great Hall and began moving towards his breakfast.

Tom looked up into Hermione's eyes, his own a pool of black desire, so wide were his pupils. He reached up and caught her hand, keeping the rose between them, and took a step to close the distance between them, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "The sooner, the better. I can't wait to have you all to myself,"

Her breath caught, and the receding blush came back full force. He watched as the flush under her skin delved below her white oxford at her throat. Delicious.

A shrill whistle sounded from behind them and Tom whipped around, pinning Abraxas with a glare, the boy unrepentant with the telltale Malfoy smirk.

Tom tugged on Hermione's hand, the one still holding her flower, and pulled her to the table for a spot of breakfast before starting their last day of school before the weekend. Before the day was out, he was resolved to find out exactly what Malfoy Manor meant to Hermione Dumbledore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The weekend had finally come and none too soon in Tom's opinion as he tried very hard to ignore the displeased glare of their transfiguration professor all throughout Friday. And that wasn't even the most frustrating part.

Tom had spent the day trying to tear down Hermione's Occlumency walls to find out exactly what Malfoy Manor meant to her but no matter what he tried, she held fast against him. He never encountered anything like it before. Other than with Hermione that is. She was the only one who ever kept him out.

As he walked to the entrance hall, he kept running his hands over his robes, the only set he had that did not have the Hogwarts crest on it. It would have been gauche, he decided, to turn up at Malfoy Manor looking as if he hadn't a sickle to his name by wearing his school robes. He didn't have any if one refused to count the yearly Gringotts deposit for school items. And he didn't count that capital. That was  _charity_. He spat the thought in his mind, feeling helpless. Helpless was a feeling that he loathed. Absolutely loathed.

The moment he caught sight of Hermione sitting on the stone steps, he relaxed and tried to remember that despite his poverty, despite his inclinations, Hermione came back in time for him. Not the wealthy Malfoy or Nott heirs. Not Dumbledore or Grindelwald. But him… Tom Marvolo Riddle. Powerful enough to make up for his humble beginnings.

It didn't even matter that she was there to stop him from a path that hadn't been his. She had been fed lie after lie. That was okay, he thought, smiling. He would be a force to be reckoned with, even if it wasn't for the same reasons and she would eventually side with him. Dumbledore wouldn't have just chosen him at random if he wasn't a threat. Nothing would stop Tom from obtaining such power and with Hermione at his side, he would be unstoppable.

Now, he just had to convince her that her blood was magical at its core, that she wasn't born of muggles. He would charm her. Show her his innermost proclivities. By the end of their little research project… she would be his and she would just as fiercely claim him as well.

"Morning, Sweet," he murmured into her hair as he bent at the waist and kissed her cheek all the while sliding the book she was reading out of her fingers. She smelled divine, as usual, and he took a moment to savor the quickening of his heart and tightness in his trousers. He hoped that things would always be like this between them.

"Good Morning Tom," she said grasping for the heavy tome. He glanced at it, amused at the title. Where could she have found such an absurd thing?

"Bloodlines: Fact or Fiction. The true and unbiased account of the Mudblood affliction by R. Black," he read, letting the smirk playing on his lips. He couldn't help but tease. "Unbiased huh… well, now we have it on good authority that being born a Muggleborn is, in fact, a disease,"

"Give that back Tom!" Hermione grumbled, cheeks pinkening. He chuckled and gave the book back, watching as she slid it into the smallest handbag he had ever seen. How interesting.

"Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded and together they walked out of Hogwarts and down to the village where they would floo to Malfoy Manor from the Three Broomsticks.

He held his elbow out for her to wrap around and waited for her to take it. "Don't worry, I won't let anyone hurt you,"

Hermione grimaced sliding her hand into the crook of his arm. "I'm not worried they will hurt me,"

"Then what?"

"Do you have to know everything? Can't you just take in my body language, know that I am uncomfortable and leave it at that?"

"Yes, if it concerns you, I must know it! I am appalled at the lack of concern you expect me to show for you. Is this how everyone in your life is?"

"Don't try to manipulate me into confiding my secrets Tom. It won't work,"

He shrugged. "Man's got to try,"

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped into the pub, smiling at the young proprietor who merely nodded at Tom and ignored her altogether. Tom reached around her and grabbed the flowerpot, letting her take a fistful.

"I will be right behind you," he muttered.

Hermione threw the green powder into the grate and stepped in, shouting, "Malfoy Manor,"

Tom watched her disappear and made to step in and follow when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Tom looked up, furious that anyone would dare touch him only to come face to face with his once Lord and Master, Gellert Grindelwald, who was cloaked in one of the strongest notice-me-not's Tom had ever felt.

"Thought you were so clever. Thought I wouldn't be keeping my eye on you, especially with such precious cargo. I will admit, Riddle, that it took me several days to determine if you were stupid enough to destroy my Horcruxes. There will be retribution."

Tom stared at the man dispassionately, keeping every thought and feeling behind a perfect mask of indifference. "And what exactly," he began slowly before twisting his lips up in a mockery of amusement. "are you going to do about it?"

Grindelwald ground his teeth, rage making sparks fly out of the tip of his wand to fizzle out harmlessly on the wooden floor. "You want to go against me?!"

"I see little advantage of being your lap dog. The night I destroyed your Horcruxes, I also destroyed our little vow. I am not your man. I told you once that I would rise, higher and more powerful than you could ever dream of. Now it is your turn to watch and cower at my feet."

"You little…"

Tom shook off Grindelwald's hand and dropped in the powder, staring Grindelwald straight into the eye as he called out Malfoy Manor. A high ranking powerful family that disdained Grindelwald and refused any sort of help. They believed that though he had the right idea… they couldn't be bothered to light a fire under their entitled arses into joining the movement.

Grindelwald felt the call to murder Tom and it was plastered clearly across his face. Tom lazily smirked and then he was stepping out of the Malfoy family floo, a marble fireplace to rival that of the extravagant French kings.

Hermione stood in the center of the room, shaking as Septimus Malfoy circled her like a great white shark who had identified his prey. Tom watched a heavily bejeweled finger reach out to trace her shoulder. A finger that never made contact.

Septimus pinned Tom with a challenging look and raised his brow. "You dare to use magic on me, in my own home?"

"Keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy, and I will mind my manners," they stared at one another until Septimus pursed his lips and stepped back several feet. Tom approached Hermione and wondered why she didn't blast the man to kingdom come.

"Hermione?" he whispered. "Are you okay?"

But she wasn't. She was a million miles away.

"Hermione?" he said a little louder, taking her shoulder in hand and shaking her gently, just enough to snap her out of it. When that didn't work he turned on Septimus, wand raised. "What did you do to her?" he yelled.

Septimus held up his hands, showing that he was unarmed. "The moment she saw me she froze. I am not unused to witches who are stunned by my handsomeness nor my powerful reputation,"

Tom canted his head, angrily bristling at the insinuation that it was Hermione's  _lust_ , of all things, that held her immobile.

Hermione at that moment took a great shuddering breath and turned, "I am sorry for my rudeness,"

"What the fuck," Tom mumbled confused beyond measure.

He felt rather than saw her slip her smaller hand into his before she pressed her entire body against his side. She was still trembling.

"Please," she whispered. "let's get this over with,"

Tom dropped his wand arm back to his side. Through gritted teeth, he said, "I also apologize for my rude behavior," but it nearly killed him to say. There were others that they could query about this subject. But Tom knew that if they wanted documented facts, they would have to seek out Malfoy and his damnable library. The Malfoy family was notorious for being progressive in all fields of magic, keeping academic journals in their own private collection.

He should have just sent Abraxas to gather the required material and bring them to Hogwarts for their perusal. But he had wanted to impress her with his connections.

One day it would be the other way around. They would clamor after him to gain his favor.

Malfoy nodded stiffly and said, "right this way. The Malfoy library is one of the largest personal libraries in the world. Not only do we add to it ourselves by creating magical content, we also buy and protect rare tomes that have been banned for whatever reason. Our library is situated in five buildings, the biggest- of course- is here at Malfoy Manor. Much of the banned books have been relocated out of the country where such information could still be held privately, without the threat of Ministry involvement. Abraxas said that the two of you were working on the Mudblood problem. Good for you! Please keep me informed of your findings…"

Septimus opened the double doors of the library, moving through to the wet bar near the far windows, pouring himself a generous tumbler of Fire Whiskey.

"The books on purity are on the second floor on the far side of the windows," he continued, swallowing a rather large mouthful of alcohol. He dismissed them from his mind and left the room without even a by your leave. Tom rolled his eyes. This matter would be quickly forgotten by the high and mighty Septimus and the only person who would be apologizing from here on out was Abraxas, on his father's behalf. Tom would see to that.

"Let's get started," Hermione said, seemingly over her earlier episode that caused her to tremble like a first year on sorting day.

"What was that all about?" he asked, stepping in front of her, baring her access to the books.

Hermione took in a shaky breath and closed her eyes. "I am not doing this now…"

"I am not going to let you touch a single fucking book until you tell me what is going on! You have hunted Horcruxes. You have traveled back in time. You have gone up against many horrible things in your own time. And yet seeing Septimus Malfoy stopped you in your tracks to the point you were catatonic!"

"During the war," she began, meeting his eyes for the first time since he stepped in front of her. "I received a letter from Lucius Malfoy asking for help. At this point, it was widely believed that Voldemort was you and vice versa. But if you said you didn't make any Horcruxes then it must have been Grindelwald. But if he was Voldemort, who was rotting away in Nurmengard?" She trailed off having gone on a tangent. "anyway… I came here as requested to help Lucius and his family escape out from under Voldemort. I will skip all the gory details but here is what you need to know. Lucius's family was already murdered, and he was held as a prisoner in Malfoy Manor. I was lured here, tortured, and finally saved by a house elf that was loyal to my best friend who had died three months earlier in the Gaunt shack. Septimus looks exactly the way Lucius did before the second war restarted and Voldemort was resurrected. That is why I froze. I was reliving the memory."

Tom stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on top of her head. "You are here now… with me… and I will not let that happen. We can and will change things. Together, we can accomplish anything,"

Hermione snaked her arms around his waist and tried to bury herself in him, taking comfort from his touch. When she settled down he pushed her away and cradled her face, enjoying the way she leaned into his palm.

"We will be so good together," he whispered before leaning down and kissing her lips that had been begging for his all day.

"We need to get back to work so we can leave," she mumbled against his lips.

He nodded, disappointed, freeing her from his hold. He turned around and grabbed the first book he saw.

_The Short History of a Mudblood's Magic_  by Algernon Malfoy.

He snorted and flipped open the back cover. It would be too easy if there was any sort of index. Letting the book fall open on its own, he began to read, barely containing his amusement.

_Magical children are stolen from their cradles by unbound house-elves and swapped with nonmagical children of similar coloring and temperament. Squib and Mudblood children are clearly a myth perpetuated by those too scared to admit that their wards had been breached and their children switched under their very noses. Therefore, all family's containing Squibs should be persecuted for child endangerment and neglect just as muggle families who receive a wizarding child should be killed for harboring stolen children._

Tom snorted and copied down the passage. He couldn't wait until Hermione saw this little tidbit in the data. With a flick of his wrist, he decided to make himself a copy of the entire book, looking forward to the highly offended look on Hermione's face when she read his report.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long wait.  
> Thank you all for your continued support. I have the best, most respectful readership. You are all greatly appreciated.

**Chapter Eight**

There are two instances of documented cases of House-elf child theft in the last two hundred years. House-elves are devilishly difficult to catch, especially when they have a vendetta against one family or another. In one instance, the elf had been mistreated and eventually was given clothes. He exacted elf justice by switching the heir out with a muggle child, leaving the magical child in the care of the muggle couple whose child had been stolen. In the other, it was the mother of a murdered elf who switched the children. This is why the Squib-born epidemic has mostly only touched the old families. Not many chances for a Mudblood to offend a rogue house elf. – Algernon Malfoy,  _The Short History of a Mudblood's Magic_.

**HGHG**

Tom couldn't help but stare as Hermione chewed the tip of her quill, deep in thought about the text she had chosen to search through. Those sweet cherry lips closed around the feathery tip as she nibbled and sucked. It was damn distracting, and he found himself, more than once, caught up in a rather vivid daydream about her falling to her knees under the table, running her hands up his thighs. Nimble fingers that danced at his placket, freeing his eager manhood, enveloping the tip in her wet, sucking mouth.

She looked up at him and smiled as he was caught in the act of staring and wanting. He pretended to clear his throat, shifting into a more comfortable position, and focus back on the open book in front of him. Algernon was trying to explain the nuances of House-elf magic and what mistreating the beings would mean for whole generations of families. According to this account, that was why binding house elves were such an important part of the master bond and why treating them well was woven into the covenants. Tom nodded. He needed to write that down.

"I can't find anything for my side of the argument!" Hermione complained.

"Why don't you look in the book you were reading earlier… what was it?"

Hermione pursed her lips but ignored his teasing. They both knew what kind of views were in that book.

"I think I will need to reach out to some geneticists," Hermione muttered.

They fell back into silence and after a while, Tom began thinking of things instead of reading the text as he ought. He knew her future was in a war-torn world and he knew that she had, until recently, believed him to be the culprit. He also knew that no matter what he tried to find out from her, she would hold her occlumency shields firm.

Tom ran his index finger against the bottom of his lip as he studied her from under his dark lashes, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. What else was she keeping from him? Was she still so firmly set in Dumbledore's camp that she wouldn't let him in.

If he was her, he would hold all of his cards close to his chest too.

"Hermione?" Tom decided to do the one thing that would throw her off kilter. He was going to come right out and ask her. It was a risk, to be sure, but he was confident that she would give him something.

"Hm?" she asked distractedly, glancing up out of the latest offensive account she had found.

"What is stopping you from telling me about your future?"

"Well," Hermione began, brows furrowing deeply as she mentally compiled her reasons. "I was trying to control the timeline the best I could. I didn't want to preserve it, obviously. I would rather not lose my best friend to a Horcrux this time around. But my biggest reason is that I came back in time knowing how wonderful and charming you appear. I already know so much about you, but I am having a difficult time combining both the man I knew of in the future and you now. I want to believe that you have been set up by others. That you are innocent of the crimes I laid at your door. But I can't help feeling as if I were being duped, either by you or Dumbledore… I don't know,"

"What do you need from me to make you believe in me? I destroyed two Horcruxes for you."

"I am starting to believe in you, Tom. But… what if I am the reason you turn out like you were in my future. What if I am the catalyst?"

"And what if everything you knew and believed the war to be was a lie? What if trusting me changes everything? We could be so good together…" he paused watching as indecision warred on her face. "You know so much about who I was to you in the future, yeah? Tell me. Is there something about me that just doesn't add up to your expectations?"

"You are a very convincing man. They told me you would be. That I wouldn't be able to tell your truths from a lie,"

"Is there anyone living or dead that is so good at lying, that there is not one instance that doesn't make sense?"

Hermione closed her eyes and her face smoothed out into a calm mask. After a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes again, having made a decision. Tom just hoped it would be in his favor.

"You reportedly can't love anyone or anything,"

"Can't or don't? Because I will admit that until you strolled into my life, I didn't feel any meaningful connections with anyone."

"What about Abraxas?"

"What about him? He is just like all other Slytherins. I am only at the top because I clawed my way there. I am too powerful to ignore, too useful to be disregarded, too intelligent not to be cultivated, too handsome not to use. I am the perfect blend of blood for their purposes. On one side, I claim a powerful and ancient magical line on the other I claim a wealthy Muggle family as their sole heir." Even if the wills leaving him the Riddle fortune were outdated from the time when his mother was still married to his father, long before he was born. Killing them had been the one thing about his father that he didn't regret. "I wouldn't be pure enough to marry their daughters but if well placed in the Ministry, I would influence the right kind of legislature. The pureblooded agenda. I would be tolerated, no more."

"What do you feel for me then?" Hermione challenged.

"I've never met a woman like you. Powerful, brilliant, my equal in each of those things. I desire you. That is new to me. Girls typically irritate me, especially the ones who simper and play the damsel in distress. As if I would want to spend any more time explaining things to them. You understand magic the way I do. You burn to learn the way I do. You are quite possibly the only person that could ever sway me from doing something."

"You like me because I am an equal in your eyes?" Hermione asked, clarifying.

"There is nothing sexier than a strong, brilliant woman," Tom said simply, shrugging.

"You think I am sexy?"

"I quite like you and I feel as if it could and would grow into something much more substantial."

Hermione caught her breath, eyes wide as saucers.

"I think I might be falling in love with you," Tom whispered, half hoping she didn't hear his vulnerability. "That is proof that I am not who you think I am. Can you not put your faith in me? I will fight for you, with you, to change the outcome of the world you came from."

"I want to trust you,"

Tom reached over and pushed a curl back behind her ear and cupped her face. "You and I could create a better world. A world where blood doesn't matter, where family wealth and status doesn't affect important laws. A world free of corruption."

"What do you get out of this?"

"If I am not the monster from your future, who is? And if it is Grindelwald using my identity, what happened to me? You said if Grindelwald was Voldemort, then who was in Nurmengard… I'll bet that I am the unfortunate in that cell. How could I alone go against both Grindelwald and Dumbledore?"

"Either we have done you a great injustice or you are the most talented actor I've ever seen." Hermione murmured, her will cracking, softening, in the face of Tom Riddle's logic.

"I would like to believe I was framed and therefore misunderstood," he smirked, the humor not reaching his eyes. He desperately wanted Hermione to be on his side. There was no logical reason why he wanted it so badly, but his stomach churned with anxiety.

"I don't know what to do," she said.

"Trust me,"

"You make it sound so easy,"

"Do I? I understand the weight of your faith probably more than anyone else. Trust does not come easily to me. I know exactly what I am asking of you," He leaned forward earnestly, eyes focused on her tongue wetted lips. He wanted her trust as much as he wanted another taste of her. Experimental dark magic and the scent of flowers clinging to her skin excited him beyond reason and their stacks of journals about blood purity lay forgotten in neat piles on the table top.

Tom paused inches away, begging with his eyes. She drew in a deep breath and closed the gap between them, taking his top lip in between hers. Light exploded behind his eyes and his breath hitched, excitement pounding through his veins. She came to him!

His hand slid into her curls and he pulled her closer, deepening their lingering kiss. He nearly came undone when she moaned into his mouth. Blood rushed south, causing his cock to stiffen, pulsing in the confines of his trousers.

Hermione pulled back much too soon for his liking, but he let her go, matching her panting breaths.

"I don't want to fight you anymore," she whispered.

"Do you believe me?"

"Yes," she said slowly, "I think I do. There is no doubt in my mind that we destroyed two Horcruxes and your stability leads me to believe that they were not yours. Not once did Dumbledore ever insinuate that Grindelwald made Horcruxes, but it is obvious that he had. That first Horcrux was made even before I arrived. You are not what I was expecting to find. Although, the one thing I don't understand is why I was sent. Wouldn't Dumbledore realize that I would figure out that you were not the man at fault?"

"Unless it wasn't Dumbledore who sent you back,"

"It was Dumbledore,"

"How do you know?"

"He looked like him, he talked like him, he knew things about me, my life."

"Polyjuice and a devoted follower of mine could have done it,"

"Why bother?"

"If you didn't come back, how would I fall in love with you? I think I would do just about anything to ensure you come back to me."

Hermione blanched, eyes fluttered shut in realization, "Snape,"

"Excuse me?"

"The man you saw in my memory of Harry's horrible death. Dark hair, hooked nose, powerful, holding me… ring a bell?"

Oh, he remembered all right.

"He knew everything about me. He was also your follower, a double agent, and we were never sure which side he truly worked for."

"My loyal spy?" Tom smirked. "If he was my man, I would have had him send you to me."

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione murmured, letting her face fall into her cupped hands.

"Why don't you tell me what we are up against," he said running his fingers down her arm before pulling her hands from her face and threading his fingers with hers, bringing her hand to his face. He caressed the line of his jaw with her hand, waiting for her to start.

She swallowed hard. "My childhood was a happy one although strange. As you know I am Muggle-born, my parents had no idea why weird things happened around me. I was precocious, even then, and I struggled to control the powers I seemed to have. I felt like Matilda* except my parents embraced the strange and accepted me as I was.

Then a Hogwarts professor arrived weeks before my twelfth birthday with an invitation to attend a school for children who were just like me. I felt as if I found where I truly belonged, that I finally found where I was meant to be. I must admit, my parents took it all in stride, despite having reservations about me attending a boarding school. Magical or otherwise.

That first train ride, I met the two boys who would become my best friends, but it didn't start off so smooth. They constantly derided me for my know-it-all ways. Ron more than Harry.

That first year truly cemented us together and we had Voldemort to thank. The three of us protected a valuable magical artifact, stopping his second rise."

"Three firsties?" Tom asked incredulously. "Where were the professors?"

"Where indeed," Hermione murmured. "Their absence never changed, not really. Harry was the center of everything. Always. I was just trying to keep him alive while fighting for my right just to be included in the wizarding world. I deserved to be there just as much as everyone else…"

"Yes. You do. And I am trying to prove it to you. Your blood is as pure as any. There can only be magic where it already exists."

"Magic cannot always be explained," Hermione said and avoided Tom's raised brow. They both knew that she rarely took that stance. Everything was grounded in logic and reasoning.

"Anyway," Tom generously moved the topic back to her life in the future.

"Year after year we encountered more and more opposition. And in our fourth year, Voldemort was resurrected. Though not the first time Harry lived after going up against him, it was the first time since that fateful Halloween night where Voldemort killed his parents and left Harry with a scar and an accidental Horcrux. Voldemort was back with his full powers, but we knew something that he seemed not to. Harry had already destroyed one of his Horcruxes back in our second year when the Chamber of Secrets was reopened. You, as you are now Tom, stepped out of the diary, nearly sucking the life out of the unfortunate student who had been given your journal. The journal of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Then when I traveled here, you had that very journal and it was already a Horcrux. And you destroyed it to please me, to gain my trust. Already everything was different.

Anyway, Voldemort kept to the shadows, pulling strings like a master puppeteer, taking over the Ministry in a nearly silent coup. Until our fifth year, where Voldemort was forced to save his Death Eaters from our clutches. He was caught dueling Dumbledore who was protecting Harry from Voldemort.

Things got much darker after that. The next year Dumbledore took Harry under his wing, leading him down the path of every Horcrux Voldemort had created. Each artifact that held one of the soul pieces was linked back to you. To Tom Riddle. Everything we know about the Horcruxes, we learned from Dumbledore. There is one thing though that doesn't change no matter if you are Voldemort or not. These Horcruxes are definitely Voldemort's. Whoever that turns out to be.

In our sixth year, when Dumbledore retrieved Harry from his aunt's house, they went together to collect the next Horcrux. The ring.

They were unable to find the ring, it was so well protected. Three months later, Harry, Snape, and I went back to the Gaunt shack. Dumbledore had supposedly instructed Harry on how to find and destroy the Horcrux. Dumbledore neglected to inform him that there was a necrotic flesh-eating curse activated the moment it felt threatened. At the time, he claimed not to know of it. But now I have my suspicions. What I want to know, is why he spent years and years protecting Harry just to send him to die in that shack."

Tom shook his head, deep in thought. "I don't know,"

"He sent Snape and me with Harry. Why? Why Snape? Harry and Snape hated each other."

"Snape didn't hate you,"

"He was much kinder to me than I believed him capable. Probably sweeter than was appropriate."

"Probably," Tom muttered darkly, remembering those unfamiliar long fingers as they caressed Hermione's waist, pulling her closer into Snape's chest, tucking her snuggly against his body. Jealousy rose dark and terrible in Tom's chest, urging him to take her, make her his. Prove to other men that she was unavailable and so much more invaluable.

Choking down the oppressive feelings, Tom slowly regained his composure.

"It wasn't until much later when the Ministry fell, and Ron died too that Dumbledore came to me with a time turner claiming that only I could go back and save them. All I had to do was stop you from creating the Horcruxes and by extension, save Harry and Ron's life. How could I say no when all I wanted was my best friends back? The moment I was standing in front of Dumbledore of this time, I asked when he would be able to send me back once I completed my mission. He claims he can't. That I am stuck here." Hermione took another deep breath before continuing. "Now you know my story, well, the abridged version anyway."

"Thank you, Hermione, for putting your faith in me." Tom murmured leaning in, dropping sweet kisses over her cheeks, eyes, nose, and temple. Was it possible to die from wanting someone as bad as he wanted Hermione? Now that he had her confidence… his craving for her doubled, tripled, pulling him into obsessive territory. His heart ached. If only she would love him, he would finally be complete. But for now, he would yearn and continue to fall until she was right where he was. And he could hardly wait.

* * *

 

*Matilda by Roald Dahl


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so long of a wait this time... slowly closing the gap between postings.

**Chapter Nine**

Power seems to follow Mudbloods in some way or another. During my extensive research, I have concluded that if the switched child isn't powerful, their progeny usually is. Though I tried bringing my findings before my peers and the Wizengamot, no one would take me seriously. If they had, they would be forced to admit Mudbloods into their precious lines. And no one wanted to admit their squib child was actually a changeling. This is the ultimate secret for keeping the Malfoy line powerful, we find and marry the most powerful Mudblood women when the magic begins to wane. -Algernon Malfoy,  _The Short History of a Mudblood's Magic_.

**HGHG**

"Tom?" Hermione hesitantly began, blushing as he continued to caress her. He was so lost in himself, in his swirling thoughts, that he didn't hear what she had said. It was true that he was euphoric. Hermione trusted him with the knowledge of her future… their future. Even if it was a grim one.

For several charged minutes, he considered who sent her back, let the thoughts roll in disquiet. At first, the thought that he would send her back to him sounded plausible but after further reflection, he knew he wasn't the culprit. She said in her time, her friend destroyed the diary, meaning she wasn't meant to come back in a looping timeline. He probably didn't even think about her that way, being so much older than her and probably incarcerated in Nurmengard. Or in hiding. Or… He swallowed hard.

There was no question that he wanted a future with Hermione. Badly. He refocused on her sweet inquisitive face and studied the soft curves, her nose, her eyes. He couldn't imagine not having her in his life now. And he didn't want to.

Suddenly a thought grew in his mind, making him wince with its possibility. Could Dumbledore have felt remorse for what he did to Tom and the magical world? Could that be why Hermione was sent back? Or could it truly be the sick and twisted revenge of his former master to the boy who set him on the path of Horcruxes?

Hermione was the perfect person to send. She was everything he never realized he wanted in a woman, everything that he prided in himself. But why would Grindelwald consider Hermione a form of revenge when she is so much like a gift?

No. Grindelwald didn't do this. He was sure of it. It had to be Dumbledore and it seemed the powerful professor was more on his side than he would have ever imagined. Would be. He wasn't on their side yet.

"You still there?" Hermione waved a single hand in front of his face and he blinked away the thoughts that harassed him. No matter who sent her back, she was innocent.

"Sorry," He murmured, giving her a small smile.

A cough from behind startled them and Hermione tried to guiltily jump apart, but Tom wouldn't let her, keeping her hand firmly within his own.

"Lunch is served in the dining room. Master ordered me to bring you both." A small house elf squeaked.

Hermione nodded and moved right away to follow the elf. Tom followed, bemused at Hermione nervous steps. Didn't she know that she was in no danger as long as he was near?

They followed the little elf through the labyrinthine corridors, each turn leading them deeper into the mighty fortress that the Malfoy family tried to pass off as their ancestral manse. The protections laid into the very foundations, into the complicated webbing that was its passageways, throbbed. He could feel its heartbeat and the pulse of magic that surrounded them. If he ever needed fortifications, a throne, a seat of power, Malfoy manor would be it. The only problem would be convincing the Malfoy heir to give it up. And Tom knew that even loyal Abraxas would balk at such a request.

The last turn made Hermione stop dead in the hallway as she looked into what was probably a drawing room. It was elaborately decorated, brass fastidiously polished by house proud elves, high sweeping arches of stone, as so much of the Manor was.

Her small hands tightened, and his brows rose as her glazed eyes flicked back and forth, watching a scene that wasn't there.

"Is this where…" he trailed off.

"Yes," she whispered, tears as much in her voice as in her eyes.

Tom pulled her into his arms and pet her crazy curls as she buried her face into his chest, wrapping her shaking arms around his waist. "I won't let anyone hurt you, not now, not ever. Let me protect you…" He whispered.

She nodded and drew in a deep and calming breath, exhaling into his robes. "You are the most powerful wizard alive or, rather, you will be. If Harry and Ron aren't around to have my back, I am glad you are,"

Tom smiled and tightened his hold on her. Over the top of her head, he met the worried eyes of the elf. He gestured with his head his desire for privacy, and the house elf looked away. Nervously twisting his hands. The elf had been given an order to bring them to lunch and he dared not disobey.

Tom gripped Hermione by the tops of her arms and pushed her away from his body despite every instinct screaming to do the opposite. "Hermione are you ready? We still have to meet Septimus,"

She nodded daubing at her wet cheeks with her fingers. From his breast pocket, he pulled out a single white linen handkerchief and offered its use.

Gratefully, she took the small square to clean up her face. "Such a gentleman," she murmured, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"For you? Always,"

She lightly snorted as if disbelieving. He didn't take it personally, however, changing one's perception about another person when such volatile feelings were involved was a monumental task. A task he gladly undertook.

With gentle pressure, he led her away from the damnable room and continued down the passage, following the elf who stopped only as he reached the heavy mahogany doors of the dining room. The elf bowed as the double doors opened as if on their own accord.

Septimus stood from his place at the head of the table and slightly bowed at the waist, more for Hermione's benefit than his own, Tom thought scornfully. But that wouldn't always be the case. One day when Hermione walked into a room on his arm, everyone would bow with devotion and reverence. Veritable royalty.

Tom and Hermione were placed on opposite sides of the table, one at each of Malfoy's sides. Tom didn't like it. He didn't like that Malfoy could reach out to her, touch her if he so desired. He would have to watch him closely. Hell would freeze over before he would let another wizard touch her creamy skin.

And it was obvious that she didn't like it either. Her stiff shoulders showed him how uncomfortable she was around Malfoy. How deeply she had been affected by his grandson, who had lured her into her torture, all because she wanted to save him and his family. She was much kinder than any of them deserved.

"Everything going well?" Septimus asked conversationally, smiling warmly at Hermione. She shifted uncomfortably but was struggling to force herself to relax.

Tom gave Malfoy a warning look that no one in their right mind could misconstrue. Malfoy sat up stiffly, back ramrod straight in his chair, dropping his gaze from Hermione quicker than if he had been Imperiused. He waved for the elves to serve them, unnerved by the boy that had secured Abraxas' allegiance. It made Tom smile.

Hermione discreetly rolled her eyes at Tom, obviously disapproving of the posturing. Not that it could have been avoided, not with a woman like her on his arm. Tom winked at her and her brows arched in surprise. His flirting seemed to visibly relax her and Tom was pleased. It wasn't that long ago when she had an opposite reaction. Oh, how far they had come!

As the food appeared before him, he gingerly took a bite, unfamiliar with the Squab in which he was served. Hermione was unobtrusively poking the tiny bird with her fork while Malfoy dug in with gusto. It was obviously a favorite dish of the Malfoy lord.

Tom met Hermione's skeptical eyes over the table and he had to hold back a laugh. She was trying so hard not to appear repulsed now that she had caught sight of Malfoy's eating habits, no longer focused on the roasted poultry dish or her own remembrances. He could tell exactly what she was thinking. Weren't the Malfoys supposed to have imposing and impeccable manners? Wasn't that something that was drilled into them from birth? Abraxas's manners came from his mother's side. There was no doubt about that.

Tom set down his fork, no longer hungry. "I did find Algernon Malfoy's journals. I must say I am skeptical of the entire thing."

Malfoy snorted, dropping the small squab leg bone onto his plate before wiping his greasy fingers on his napkin. "Yes, well, he was convinced that Maximus Talenger was his son, swapped at birth. If you must know, the resemblance was uncanny. Until this day, the boy's portrait hangs in the west hall. He was brought into the house, taken from his muggle home, taking his 'rightful' place as the true Malfoy heir. I can show you after lunch if you would like,"

"Couldn't the boy have been born of a Squib-born Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"Squib-born children have traditionally been killed. Algernon's son was the first child to be spared that fate and also coincidentally the last squib born in the line."

"In Algernon's account, his son was dark haired and looked nothing like the family. Then in another breath, he accused the house elves of being so sneaky that they matched the infants right down to temperament." Tom added.

"Algernon always claimed that the elves he had done wrong had wanted him to know. To punish him."

Hermione looked shocked as if she couldn't believe such malice from the tiny creatures.

"You don't actually believe that House-elves are the true cause of Muggleborns? Do you know how many Muggle-born children are born each year? That is one hell of a kidnapping feat. If it were only one or two children, I might be able to believe it. But there are at least twelve in our year alone. Is it truly that easy to offend the house elves to the point they would snatch children?"

"There is a lot more abuse in pure households than even I would like to admit. And it isn't unheard of that our children die in infancy. We Malfoys have always kept a tally. There are some discrepancies that we allow for, such as magical children dying with their muggle caretakers because of abuse or neglect, or even illnesses that would easily be cured in the magical world. The numbers between magical births and Muggleborns are frighteningly close."

"Must it be revenge when an elf places a magical child with muggles then?" Hermione asked curious to what he believed. Tom sat quietly, considering. The hypothesis was so wild, so out there, that he had never seriously considered its possibility of being true. But now…

"Why?"

"What if there was a great war. A war that left pureblooded lords dead, ancient houses without heirs, imprisoned and unable to procreate. Where would the Muggleborns come from then?"

Septimus looked at her considering, searching her face. "Perhaps the loyal elves were trying to save the children from the enemies of their family. Especially, if there was no one else to protect them. Elves can be the most loyal of beings to a family that treats them well. It is in their nature to serve the family's interests."

"You believe this then?" She asked Malfoy, keeping every thought and feeling behind her strong, impenetrable occlumency shields. Tom smothered a smirk but couldn't hide his dancing eyes.

"There is just so much proof. I can't afford not to believe it," Septimus finally said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, signaling the elves to take away the plates, and to serve the next course.

Hermione took a sip of water as she mulled over the new information. Tom could see this theory as plausible, especially during her time. The chaos of war often hid truths right under the very noses of those they were hidden from.

"Have you ever asked a house elf?" Tom asked.

"Of course, but they do not share elf magic with wizards. Though they serve us, their own secrets and traditions and lifestyles are kept hidden. To be honest most wizards don't even consider that they may have their own culture. Perhaps that is the problem. Most do not see them as living beings. That is their mistake. Once an elf is won over, their loyalty lasts for the entirety of their life and that loyalty is passed down and down. Generations of devoted house elves. But don't be complacent, even gentle creatures like house elves can be moved to great acts when provoked."

"Exactly!" Hermione agreed fiercely, a manic gleam in her eye.

Tom rolled his eyes at the two of them, taking a sip of water. He paused before setting the water goblet down and met her eyes. "You believe this?"

"I believe that House-elves deserve better treatment. I have seen a brutalized elf attack a former master after years and years of abuse. I've also seen that same elf attach himself to another wizard. It was more like a friendship though. There was no bond that I was aware of, though he did come whenever Harry called."

"Then there was a bond," Septimus said. "although, it may have unconsciously been formed. Elves are very loyal to any who earn their hearts,"

"He was a free elf. He was paid by his next 'family'."

Septimus scoffed and leaned back in his chair, ignoring the chocolate mousse placed before him. "There must have been a reason why the elf didn't fully serve your friend,"

"I don't know of any,"

"Didn't he live with muggles?" Tom asked quietly. He wasn't sure if she knew that he knew more about Harry than she had told him about. It was the bonus of being an accomplished Legilimens. She looked at him sharply, with equal amounts of resignation and fury in her eyes. Her retribution laid naked in her stare.

"He did," she said stiffly.

"Well, there you go!" Septimus said. "I bet that Muggleborn was placed by that very elf!"

"He wasn't. Harry's wizarding parents died and his only relatives able to take him were muggles."

"That is why the Malfoy family always killed nonmagical children," Septimus sighed. "no chance of jealousy of the ungifted to interfere with wizardkind. Your friend should have been fostered out to a magical family. There are many who would never turn away a magical child of any blood status to be raised by muggles."

Tom could tell that Hermione agreed that her friend should never have been given to muggles to be raised. It was curious because she was so fierce in her protection of her own parents. Curiouser and curiouser.

Another house elf appeared at Septimus' elbow, a silver tray in hand with only a single rolled parchment on its face.

Malfoy unfurled the letter and read, his face darkening with displeasure. "I apologize for leaving you both, but I have urgent matters in which I must attend. One of the elves will show you to the floo. We will have to arrange another day for you both to come."

With that, Malfoy strode angrily out of the room and the two guests could only guess at what had so displeased him. Well, Hermione wondered. Tom had silently and skillfully entered the patriarch's mind the second his face reddened in anger.

He stood from the table and placed his napkin next to his untouched dessert and held out his hand for Hermione to take. They were leaving, it was true, but they were not yet going back to Hogwarts. This new development made his insides quiver with anticipation and he couldn't wait to bring Hermione in on the thickening plot.


End file.
